


Golden

by Foreverwholockedme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Sex, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Smut, Werewolf Arthur, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:48:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreverwholockedme/pseuds/Foreverwholockedme
Summary: Charles comes from a long line of werewolf hunters. His hunting leads him to the Van der Linde gang right at the time of his most elusive target yet. With their help, Charles helps uncover just who and what this beast is.





	1. Prologue

_ Six months earlier _

“Shut the _fuck_ up.”

Charles’ eyes flickered to the two drunk men sitting at the saloon table across from him. The man who uttered that shutdown spilled his drink. His hair was greasy, he was covered in mud, and his clothes were soiled with dirt and blood. The other man he came in with was thought to be his friend, until they got a few drinks in them. Charles heard most of the conversation, somewhere between buzzed and drunk, he listened in. He figured that when they weren’t calling him slurs, drunk white men were always good for entertainment. He hasn’t been let down yet.

His hand hovered over his sawed-off shotgun just in case they got too wound up. The greasy man’s friend grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. His eyes were near bulging and he sounded terrified more than he did angry. He was Irish, muscular, and just as dirty.

“I’m telling yous I seen it! With me own eyes!”

“A beast? You saw a goddamn dog, partner!”

Charles had been hearing people similar to the man he was listening to now. For the past eight months he’d been travelling the country, searching for this terrible beast that killed and terrified towns.

“Would a dog be twice me own size? Listen to yourself you great idiot! He weren’t no dog, friend. That was a monster!”

His family hunted beasts like that for centuries, or so, that’s what his mother always told him when he was a kid. It was a family tradition, they hunt men formed into large dog-like creatures and they keep people safe. His father fell in fast with the family business and then came Charles. He’d been raised to hunt these same creatures down. He was surprised that there were so many. He usually had no trouble tracking them and chasing them down. But this one, this beast was elusive. It never seemed to stay in one location for longer than three weeks, or even a few days. It was strong, incredibly strong. Charles saw some of the carnage he would leave behind, the state he would leave survivors in. It was also smart, and the first of it’s kind to show intelligence. It would evade the traps that Charles would set out while hunting. Usually, they would be frenzied and blood-thirsty, ignorant to the fact that they were being hunted. It was almost like it knew it was being followed. He knocked by his glass of whiskey and frowned at the burn in his throat. He half gave up looking for it, and busied himself with the beasts that he usually fought. Until tonight, that is.

Like fate, the beast turned up again and Charles felt the closet he could to happy in months. A certain part of him enjoyed the game. It got boring quick, the same routine, the same tired battles. It made him think about the stories his mother used to tell him about her hunts, and how the most satisfying and thrilling ones she had were when she knew that while she hunted the beasts, they were also hunting her. He felt almost as good as her, and so when he lost track of the creature, he felt that it was a sign from a higher power.

“I ain’t going back there!”

“Well that’s where we work, stupid! We gotta go back, don’t matter if you don’t like.”

“He’ll eat all of us!”

“Lord get it together friend!”

Charles sighed and finished off the bottle he was given before walking over to the table. He placed his hand in between them and smiled politely.

“I’ll go.”

The Irishman’s face paled, and he gulped.

“Why would you?”

“I can help you with that beast problem.”

The men just gawked, but the Irishman stuttered out the place they worked. He found himself close to the Grizzlies, the Irishman confirmed that it was sighted near that area. In the dead of winter no less. His greasy friend didn’t take too kindly, however, to his interruption.

“Get your nigger hands off me! How dare you come over here minding our business, boy?”

“I was just curious is all.”

“Oh was you? You think I care what you felt? I oughta bust your colored ass wide open for barging over here!”

While Charles hunted these beasts, there was no job for it in the world and more often he found himself relying on his own food stock and whatever cheap canned food he could procure from general stores. Those that would even sell to him, that is. He was weak on account of that, the booze was the first thing to enter his stomach in four days. This man was big, and angry and Charles knew he didn’t stand much of a chance at the moment. He ran out of the bar, and tried to get on Taima before he was thrown down by the greasy man and given a few kicks to the stomach and a harsh punch to his head. The greasy man didn’t look like he was going to stop, he tried to send a few blows the man’s way and only landed two of the five. There was the sound of a gunshot in the air and people shouting the law’s arrival at them.

It was a blur after that. No one was arrested, Charles was threatened with imprisonment for harassment, the other man only got a warning to be more mindful of his drunken behavior. Charles hopped on Taima and raced for the Grizzlies, eager to be away from that godawful town. He got about halfway deep into the mountains when he started to feel the effects of that concussion he got. He was woozy and felt faint. He heard the trampling of another set of hooves.

“You alright, son?” The voice cracked, but deep and loud.

He turned to look at the direction the voice came from, but he slid off his horse and soon everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

“Arthur you know your face’ll stick like that.”

Arthur just rolled his eyes in response. He liked being in California. It was hotter and plenty of people good for robbing. People with money. He just felt better, felt happier there. He found his mother’s flower. He took it with him in a jar. Dutch was walking just a bit head of Arthur. He always liked to be in front, in charge and Arthur didn’t see anything wrong with it. It’s not he wanted to lead, and no one else had any ideas. He wanted to scout ahead to the area ahead. They left California towards the end of summer. Hosea proposed they take the train to New Austin to save everyone the burden of being caught in the winter, but Dutch argued that the caravans couldn’t be left there and everyone’s items couldn’t be brought on the train. Arthur sat at the entrance of the tent that night listening to them argue about it. Dutch eventually got his way and so everyone took to horseback and wagon for the trip. Then the winter came and they were stuck in the mountains. Hosea was too sick to join them on their hunting trip, but he gave Arthur the bait and bullets and told him to go with Dutch. The camp was a ways back from their current location, but they needed meat and pelts to make blankets.

Arthur felt like they’ve been hunting for days, but Dutch would say that it was more like five hours.

“You ain’t been this silent since we first picked you up. What’s wrong, son?”

“Don’t got much energy to carry conversation. I reckon I ain’t been eating much as of late.”

Arthur knew that it wasn’t entirely Dutch’s fault that they had no food, but if he had just taken the train like Hosea said then they would at least be closer to New Austin and definitely not trapped in the mountains where most animals are hibernating anyway.

“We are all suffering from empty bellies, Arthur! I nearly thought about eating Copper last night.”

It was bait, and Arthur took it gladly.

“He already an old dog, don’t got to take what little time he got to make a quick meal out of him.”

The sound of the whistling wind was the only noise for a moment before he heard Dutch’s laugh.

“I’m just joking, my boy. It was only a joke.”

“Well it’s like I said, I ain’t much in the mood for those.”

He saw Dutch’s mouth twitch at the sly comment. Arthur sort of reveled in the fact that Dutch never could get over that he had a mouth just as smart as his. It was the reason he spent many nights in Dutch’s tent being lectured on his anger and showing his wit too early and too much. Went right over his head each time.

“Hang tight son, we will get you your precious meat soon. Just need to find a deer or two and we’ll be alright. At least, until we get to New Austin.”

Arthur scowled again. He wanted Dutch to see that this is exactly why they should have stayed in California, it was a big state, their bounties weren’t even large enough to warrant a search party. Dutch was hellbent on getting to New Austin for reasons, only Hosea knew. Arthur just took it as Dutch being scared about all the new cities that were popping up in California on account of the railroads they built. Big cities attract more law, as he would always tell him.

“Why can’t we just turn back?”

He sound childish, and he knew it. But he figured that since it was just the two of them, they would be able to have an actual conversation about it, as opposed to Dutch being prompted to give one of his grand speeches for the sake of the gang being there.

“Turn back?”

Arthur grew silent. Dutch looked irritated, but not mad.

“Arthur, my boy, you saw exactly the same as me. There was law upon law upon law there. Everywhere we went, why we barely got away from that train robbery with our lives.”

“Don’t that mean we was successful then?”

“And why, dear boy, are you so determined to remain in California? There ain’t room for people like us no more, Arthur. Why do you think you have a place there? Maybe it had something to do with that girl you was sweet on. What was her name?”

“…Caroline.”  

“The same Caroline that reported us to the police after she saw a wanted poster of me?”

“Of course not, Dutch…it’s just…folk was happier there. All that sunshine and food…”

“We are _getting_ food now. We have the talented Mr. Pearson and Miss Grimshaw with us and with the two of us, Arthur, our bellies will be full again. You just got to have faith in me. In us. We’ll have sunshine and Carolines a-plenty in New Austin!”

Dutch didn’t leave much room for debate after that. He whipped the reigns on The Count and soon he left Arthur in his dust. He sighed before whipping Boadicea’s reigns to do the same. That talk could have gone better, all it did was the make the hungry cranky men crankier. Arthur just kept his hat down and scouted for any signs of animal tracks in the snow.

“Aha! Our luck’s beginning to turn, Arthur!”

The gloved hand was pointing at a set of deer tracks.

“Hyah!” Once again his horse bolted, and Arthur had little choice but to follow. After a few minutes of following the tracks, they found two deer sleeping underneath a pine tree. Dutch and Arthur looked at each other, the thought of a decent meal sent a rush of hope and excitement through them. Hurriedly, Dutch took out his revolver and aimed for one of the animals. Just when he was about to take the safety off, a set of loud hooves woke them up and scared them away. A man on a horse ran in front of Dutch’s gun, leaving him unable to shoot anyway. Arthur wondered if Dutch would be desperate enough to shot the man too, but after the dear ran away the thought changed to, would he shoot the man for getting in between his meal? He was proven wrong when the horse stopped running and the man perched on top was swaying like he was about ready to pass out.

“Are you alright, son?”

The man turned around and stared at the two of them before falling off his horse. Arthur was ready to turn around and keep hunting, but Dutch, being Dutch, ran over to the unconscious man.

“This won’t do. Arthur, put him on your horse, we’ll take him back to camp.”

Arthur didn’t budge.

“We don’t need another mouth to feed, Dutch.”

“Arthur Morgan! How can you say that?”

“We already starving! How we about to take someone in when we can’t even feed them that’s already at camp?”

“I asked myself the same question, uttered the very same words that you are now when I found you. Look at the choice I made despite of it too.”

Dutch was always good at shutting Arthur right up.

“Now I ain’t saying we let him stay, just let the man come to, get his bearings, and send him on his way. You don’t have a problem with that, do you, Arthur?”

He’s been with him for twenty years. He knew better when Dutch asked that. It meant that no, even if he did truthfully, he wasn’t going to challenge Dutch’s orders. That’s why Arthur found himself throwing the stranger over the back of his horse instead of a deer, and lugging him back to camp instead of the game they were supposed to be showing off. Dutch had the man’s horse tethered to his.

To be honest it pissed Arthur off completely, but then would he have felt better just leaving the man to freeze to death out there? He didn’t really like to think about it too much. It didn’t matter anyway because about eight hours later, the stranger woke up. He was placed in a tent not too far from Hosea and Susan so that they could monitor him better and he could warm up from the fire. Hosea went and got Arthur first, before Dutch came in and talked him right back into unconsciousness. Arthur grumbled but he did as he was told. The man was shirtless and bandaged, muscular, and confused as all hell.

“Relax, we ain’t gonna hurt you. We found you up in the mountains, looked to be in a bad way. My mentor figured we couldn’t leave you so we took you back and got you patched up.”

The man stared Arthur down real hard, full of mistrust. He understood. The stranger was black, possibly a dark-skinned Native American. Arthur could only imagine all the shit he gets just for existing, and from white guys like him on top of that. Hell, if the man tried to fight him he would understand it too.

“Thank you.”

His voice was deep, soothing. Arthur calmed down a little just from hearing it.

“I ain’t fix you up that was Miss Grimshaw and Hosea. I’m just the messenger telling you that your things is with your horse, you free to leave whenever you want.”

It was the word “leave” that made the stranger shudder. Arthur knew it was better to be stuck in the mountains with a group of people than alone. But he really was hoping the man would leave and find his luck elsewhere, they really didn’t need more people when they could barely feed the few that were there. Could this man even hunt?

“May I have some food before I go?”

And there it was. Arthur wanted to say no, but the word died on his tongue whenever he tried to speak. He just nodded.

“We ain’t got much of it but I can try and see if we got some to spare.”

He looked relieved to hear that.

“Thank you again…”

“Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

The conversation died after that but before he could leave the tent completely he heard the stranger speak again.

“If you need food, I can hunt and track. It can be my repayment for taking me in.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. He tasted the venison that he could eat. He turned around.

“That sounds like a fine deal, a fine deal indeed mister…”

“Smith. Charles Smith.”

Arthur held his hand out and Charles shook it with a bit of hesitance.


	3. Chapter 3

He spent the first two days he was there resting, at least until his concussion went away, then he started finding chores to do that didn’t over exert his body. He was washing dishes with Miss Grimshaw, she yelled at the other girls the entire time but he was able to tune it out after the first week. Then on the second week he was there, Arthur asked if he could go hunting with him.

“It’s just well…we been cooped up here for a while and I ain’t really had much chance to have a word with you.”

“Have a ‘word’ with me?”

Arthur just grumbled under his breath.

“You still new, we don’t know nothing about you.”

Charles didn’t really take too kindly with this stand-offish white man towering over him while he was sat washing bowls. He still didn’t know anyone closely since he’s been with them, but he knows that Dutch apparently is not above hiring racists like Bill Williamson. Would Arthur be any different?

“You gonna interrogate me?”

“No, not unless you need to be of course.”

“I thought you wanted to see me hunt.”

“I do, but I also need to see if you can be trusted while we do that.”

“Okay. I might tell you if I go, I’m not sure yet.”

“Why you being like that?”

“Because you came marching over here like I did something to you.”

Charles wasn’t mad. He rarely ever got mad. The same couldn’t be said for Arthur apparently, the man saw the way his cheeks were flushed red. The way his hands fidgeted at his side and the narrowing of his eyes. Charles coolly resumed his dish washing while Arthur stood in front of him silent as ever. When his task was finally finished, he moved to get up. He was about two inches taller than Arthur. He liked that. He bent down to grab the tin of water when he heard Arthur say, “You know what?” and then louder, “Forget it, never mind.” And stomped away. Charles stared at his retreating form and cocked his head. He wondered if he was going to tell on him to Dutch. Maybe he should’ve went after him.

But he had chores to do and he really didn’t want to be subject to another beating by an angry white man so he went about his day.

That day eventually turned into six months spent with them, and he hadn’t really seen nor spoke to Arthur since that clumsy introduction. If they had any conversation it was just Arthur giving him an order or asking him if he was okay like he did the rest of the gang. Charles would have found it slightly encouraging had Arthur not made it seem like such a routine. There was also the fact that Arthur tended to leave camp for days at a time. He would always come back bearing some type of gift for the gang donation box. Be it jewelry, or some pelts. On a few occasions he was spotted entering the camp hauling some rabbits or turkeys, maybe even a few fish. Charles wondered if anyone noticed that he always looked worn to the bone when he returned. His eyes always had dark rings under them, he looked pale, and he would always gorge himself on food and drink before passing out for the rest of the day. He wondered why no one ever said anything about it, he got the assumption that they were all closer than he could ever possibly be with them. To him it was a gang, but to them it was a family.

Along the way they picked up a bunch of new recruits. All of them incredibly young compared to the original gang members. Tilly was a relief to Charles. He was the only black person in the camp prior to her joining and it was incredibly lonely until she came. They took to spending a lot of time together, often in silence while she read a book and he made new arrows and the like. Then Lenny came along and joined the duo. It wasn’t long before Tilly became fast friends with Karen and Mary-Beth. Lenny took a liking to Sean and Arthur mostly and would sit with them by the fire most nights. Charles still couldn’t shake his mistrust, and even though they took him in and patched them up, that talk with Arthur was enough to keep him from repeating something like that ever again with the rest of the gang. Charles spent long enough with them now to realize that everybody but Bill shared his racist views. Hosea played dominoes with him sometimes, but that was only because he could never deny the man. Dutch took him on a few missions and always praised him when they were successful, but that didn’t mean anything. Arthur wasn’t racist either, he was the kindest to Lenny though, but it’s not like Charles didn’t make it that way.

And then there came Micah. Micah was the worst person Charles had ever met. From the minute Dutch returned with him, the gang hasn’t quite been the same since. He makes the rest of the them uncomfortable, and that’s when he isn’t lobbing insults and abuse at the non-whites in the camp. He loved picking on Lenny especially, because the boy wasn’t too tough, and he was just that. A young man. Arthur usually came to his defense when Micah got particularly nasty out his mouth. Of course this was a rare occurrence because Arthur was barely in camp anymore, so it was up to Lenny and the rest of the men to tell him off when that happened. It was beyond him though, to see how someone so horrible and new became so close to Dutch in such a short amount of time. Charles could never kiss ass like that.

It was like the man was summoned by Charles’ musings because he heard the loud clopping sounds of Boa’s hooves and when he turned, it was none other than Arthur Morgan. He patted her on the head before jumping down. He said his passing greetings to everyone, and soon he was ducking into Dutch’s tent, no doubt to get an earful about the upcoming heist they’re planning. Micah came back just three days ago screaming Dutch’s name. The gang found themselves West Elizabeth, near a town called Blackwater. Under Dutch’s orders no one was to there until Arthur and Micah scouted the place out. He sent Arthur first, and then Micah after. Micah stayed a few days longer than Arthur, who left after spending the night there. He came back looking as ragged as ever. Micah on the other hand, always looked like trash. He went running over to Dutch’s tent and Charles wasn’t sure if he was ever anywhere else since he came back. Today, however, Micah found himself with a bit of free time and decided to sit with Charles and Lenny at the fire. They both ignored him in favor of the flames but of course, he took it as an invite to speak.

“Y’all sure you want to be sitting next to the fire? Y’all already dark as is, why would you want to be any blacker?”

He laughed but they grimaced. No one responded. That upset Micah greatly.

“What y’all don’t want to talk to your dear friend, Micah? Typical darkies, simple as all hell.”

“Micah I reckon that’s enough out of you.”

Arthur came walking over to the fire. If there was any sight he liked, it was the way Micah always clammed up whenever Arthur spoke to him. Like a true coward.

“Let these men here enjoy something without your presence for once!”

Lenny laughed. Charles cracked a smile. Micah snorted but rose from the log to walk away.

“You best take care to not let no more negroes in this gang, Mr. Morgan! You gone mistake that beast as one of them and ruin this whole gang!”

 _Beast._ He thought of that monster that eluded him again thanks to his injuries. By the time he was strong enough to be on his own, he scouted on his own and found nothing. The gang moved on quickly after the winter storms let up and so he wasn’t given an opportunity to wait for its return. Charles turned around to see Arthur looking at him with a face he couldn’t place.

“What you going on about?”

“You ain’t hear? Why that ain’t very responsible of you, lieutenant. Folks in Blackwater been talking about a beast that came. He only were there for one night but it was enough to send them townsfolk into a right panic. Been told they been shooting any stray dog they come across for safety.”

Arthur looked tense. Charles was intrigued. Micah laughed at Arthur’s expression.

“Well what’s the matter cowpoke? You sad about them dogs?”

Micah imitated a sad puppy before laughing in Arthur’s face again and staggering off, looking to get some more booze from the food wagon. Charles’ eyes studied the man intensely as he watched Micah leave. He looked enraged and if his fist was clenched any tighter his nails would draw blood. Arthur sighed and looked over at the two men who watched the altercation.

“Y’all alright?”

“Yeah, Arthur. Thanks for dealing with that asshole.”

“Don’t worry about it kid.”

And then he just turned and left. Charles ruminated on the new information he got.


	4. Chapter 4

After Micah’s rant at the camp fire, Charles couldn’t stop thinking about The Beast. He wondered what happened to it the past six months after he first heard word about it. Maybe the fault was on him, he didn’t make it to the first site that the Irishman told him about and then he got caught up in the goings-on with the Van der Linde gang, foolishly giving it time to escape. But Blackwater wasn’t far from where he first met the group. Was there a point to its travelling or was it caught in that horrible winter weather just like he was?

He pondered the thought for the rest of the night, even to the point where he neglected to notice that it was meal time and he was the only one that hadn’t eaten. He smelled the familiar scent of Pearson’s concotions and turned to find a bowl right next to his face. It was Tilly. His eyes travelled up to her bright brown ones and she offered him a reassuring smile.

“Just wanted to make sure you ate before the rest of the men tore the stew to shreds. Mind you, this stew taste a little questionable.” She giggled at her own joke and Charles could hardly resist sharing the laugh too. His chest rumbled as he took the bowl from her and stirred the contents around before sampling it. He never could get over the bland food that these poor outlaws subjected themselves to. They already had to dodge bullets, bandits, and law they could at least treat themselves to decently seasoned food. He picked up a spoonful of the food up and sighed as he shoved it into his mouth. This just won’t do, but sadly it would have to wait. When Tilly saw him take the first mouthful she nodded and walked away, joining Karen and Mary-Beth over by their campfire.

He knew what would happen now, the rest of the gang would slowly start making their way to the liquor and soon the entire camp would be up to shenanigans until they passed out from over consumption. With the bank job looming so close, Charles just figured that this was their way of settling their nerves. He just wished that they weren’t so loud sometimes. He took another spoonful and saw Javier making his way to his guitar. Yeah, things were definitely about to get crazy. He smiled at the thought of the antics that could potentially happen, but he had to focus on getting more information about is target. Of course, he could bide his time until Dutch was nice and buzzed to ask if he could go to Blackwater alone.

The man who was otherwise labelled their leader made it expressly clear that they had to limit their activity in that town until they went through with the robbery, on account of not alerting any suspicion beforehand. They were wanted in New Austin, and it was enough to warrant a creeping anxiety to course through Dutch. He heard some of the conversation between him and Micah when he first announced the idea. Dutch wasn’t very keen on rushing off under the law’s radar so soon after their exploits in New Austin. It was petty thefts, cons, and of course the occasional stagecoach robbing, there was even a train robbery that Charles wasn’t well enough for. Those were minor things to this gang, but it was enough to nearly get them chased out of the state by the law, which was why they were back in the Grizzlies.

Micah just chuckled and began to stroke at Dutch’s ego.

“Dutch you are truly one of the greatest men I know and an even greater outlaw, what’s a few law to a wonder like you?”

Charles couldn’t take much more of the ass-kissing so he walked away. Apparently, it was enough to get Dutch to agree, and Arthur and Hosea to disagree yet again. But those squabbles were above his ranking in the gang. He was more like a newborn to them that been with Dutch for over ten years. They came to him for help or to ask him to go hunting, but beyond that he was in the dark. And just as he was expected to keep his nose out of their business, he hoped that Dutch would do the same for him. He drank the rest of the stew down, grimacing and understanding why the rest of the gang clamored to the alcohol. He rose and started searching for the beer crate himself. Unsuprisingly, he found the crate cracked open and half of the bottles gone already. A quick survey of the rest of the camp and he found more than half of them guzzling away at the drink. He wondered if they ever drank water. Deciding that it wasn’t really his business, nor was he that interested in the answer, he shrugged and grabbed two. He started heading over to the dominoes table and helped himself to his drinks. He watched them all with a contented smile as they slowly descended into drunkenness.

Soon, the moon was high in the sky and the gang was decidedly off the shits. Karen was already hollering a song with Uncle and Javier. Lenny was sitting across from Jenny making the most obvious goo-goo eyes ever, and Charles didn’t know if she was purposefully ignoring it, or if she was truly oblivious to his attraction to her. Abigail and John were in the middle of yet another alcohol-fueled argument, with little Jack wandering over to grandpa Hosea, who was attempting to distract him with a new penny dreadful he bought. Dutch and Molly were dancing to his blaring opera music, her love for Dutch readily apparent through how tight she was clinging on to him and the width of her contented smile as they swayed slowly to the song. Mac and Davey were in the middle of an arm wrestling competition, with Sean serving as the hype man. Even though neither of them were winning, Mac was positive that he was the clear victor of the round, and Sean was all too happy to agree making Davey madder. Mary-Beth and Tilly looked intoxicated themselves, which was bit rare as opposed to the rest of the alcoholics that made up the Van der Linde gang. They were reading a book and every few minutes they would squeal in delight and shock and Mary-Beth even fell over a few times while Tilly clapped her hands over her mouth and laughed, affronted at whatever they were reading. Bill and Micah were having some sort of shoot-off but the two were already stumbling drunk and so it was bullets shooting willy-nilly off the rock, each bullet making a twang noise when it ricocheted.

“Will you two knuckleheads do that somewhere else!”

Hosea was yelling over at them angrily, and the two men looked like children caught stealing from the cookie jar. Hosea didn’t lose his scary face and the two men muttered something to each other before leaving the camp to continue their contest. Jack was highly amused by this and his childish giggles were heard while the two drunkards staggered away. Hosea shushed him so that they could keep reading but then Jack whispered something to his grandpa and even he couldn’t help but laugh at whatever he said. It was cute, his parent’s constant fighting in front of him was less so. John had just made his last cutting remark and without warning Abigail slapped him across the face and stormed off, glancing over at her son to deem that he was safe before she did so. John looked as pissed as ever and stomped away himself to the other side of the camp. The rest of the gang too accustomed to it to bat an eye at the altercation. Charles wished he was the same.

“That was an illuminating experience Miss O’Shea, thank you for the dance.”

She curtsied while he bowed, glowing at the compliment.

“The pleasure was all mine, Dutch.”

They shared the rare kiss and she traipsed over to the liquor cart to refill on her spirits. Dutch was sloshed enough to be wagging his finger to the music on his gramophone with his eyes closed and a goofy smile plastered to his lips. The first two buttons on his shirt was undone and the hand that held his whiskey was close to spilling over.

“Hosea, are you enjoying the music!”

Hosea once again paused his reading to take in the sight of his drunk friend and shook his head with a laugh.

“I have never liked that shit you played from your gramophone and you know that.”

“As ever the paragon of good taste!”

“Have another drink, Dutch I’m sure we’ll agree after your sixth drink.”

Hosea just rolled his eyes and waved Dutch off. Charles sighed and swigged the rest of his beer before getting up and heading over to the man in charge. At Charles’ approach, Dutch, not caring to open his eyes said, “Arthur, my boy!”

“It’s not Arthur.”

“Charles! Our lone wolf. What brings you over to little old me?”

“I’ve come to ask your permission.”

Dutch’s eyes opened, his interest certainly piqued at the mention of “permission”.

“My boy, you would not believe how little this gang actually asks my permission for anything, I’m inclined to say yes but let’s hear you out first.”

The gang didn’t know that Charles was able to hunt werewolves in addition to the standard rabbits and deer that he usually donated. He figured they would just brand him off as crazy or worse, drive him away from the camp under the assumption that the beasts that he hunted would follow him to their camp and terrorize the group, and he couldn’t have that. Dutch’s inebriation was something seldom experienced, at least in his short time running with them, and he didn’t want his first favor to be while he was under the influence, but it was when the man was most pliable and agreeable.

“Before I met you, I was in the middle of tracking…big game, but I lost track of it after you found me. I heard that it was spotted again in Blackwater and I was wondering if I could scout for it there before we attack that boat. If I don’t see or hear anything about it for three days then I’ll come back. I’ll be sure to keep my head down and search for it quietly.”

Dutch was scratching underneath of his beard, listening carefully to Charles’ word. A request to go against his orders, but polite enough in asking that if he were denied it could be considered bad leadership due to lack of trust. Charles knew that Dutch considered himself anything but a bad leader. Even if he was denied, he would just have to go while the rest of the group were passed out from the night’s festivities and take any consequences when he returned, if he would at all. With The Beast back in his sights and at the forefront of his mind, if he discovered that it moved on from the town then he would have to move on with it. He wasn’t with the gang so long that they would miss him, he was sure of it. He was disturbed from his thoughts of the future when Dutch’s large, ringed-hand clapped on his shoulder and gave it a reaffirming squeeze.

“This is a strange request…a direct slight to my orders of no one stepping foot in that town until we’ve robbed the place clean…”

Charles was already mentally preparing how he would pack his stuff up when Dutch continued.

“But, you’ve been a good member to us even in the brief time you’ve been here. Promise me this, if you find whatever lead you’re looking for, can I trust you to come back? We’ve had our fair share of flighty members before and this time I would like to be warned in advance.”

Charles swallowed, unsure if he should answer honestly or tell him what he wanted to hear. What did he want to hear?

“I’ll be back. Like I said, just give me three days to investigate.”

Dutch still looked like he was on the fence. Or he drank too much and was having trouble listening to what the man was saying. It was agonizing and Charles felt extremely uncomfortable being this close under scrutiny by the head of the gang, drunk or no.

“Alright…alright alright, Charles. You have supplied my gang with more than enough food over the six months you been with us I reckon I can grant you this one favor out of the good of my heart.”

Charles restrained himself from visibly exhaling.

“But.”

“But?”

Dutch wore a crooked grin now and nodded at the nervousness in his subordinate’s face.

“I’ve heard that everyone had one!” He laughed but he was the only one that found that even remotely funny.

“I will allow you to do this under one condition.”

He didn’t have much choice in the matter and he would rather stay in the favor of the group of outlaws that were pissed and within arm’s reach of their guns.

“…What is it?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do YOU guys think it is?


	5. Chapter 5

_“I’ve noticed a bit of friction between you and Arthur. Take him with you.”_

That line ran through Charles’ head for hours after Dutch spoke it. The scent of whiskey and beer on his breath, the way he leant in close, completely invading all of what little personal space the man had to begin with. His mouth was fixed in a smirk smothered in impish delight. He could tell from Charles’ face that the man was torn now. He wanted to go by himself, which is why he asked Dutch and not Arthur or anyone else. He didn’t want the rest of the gang to know what he did because then they would want to know why and it was a story that he didn’t want to tell, and it wasn’t their business anyway. Or was he just being too difficult?

_“With all due respect, Dutch…”_

_“With all due **respect** , Charles, Arthur outranks you and you only been with us for a short time. You know we got a heist cooking up right? I can’t have y’all bickering while we shooting at law and grabbing up money.” _

Charles guessed that he had a point, but he wasn’t happy about the condition. Dutch didn’t care apparently and in no time he was calling over the man being debated. Arthur was away from the group, scribbling away at something by the lantern sitting on his nightstand. He had a bottle of beer with him but Charles couldn’t tell if he was drunk like the rest of them or not. He snapped his head up at the sound of his name being said by Dutch’s voice. Charles always wanted to laugh at the sight, he couldn’t tell if Arthur was more like guard dog or a loyal housecat. Dutch waved a hand over and the lieutenant was walking over, much more relaxed than Charles had ever seen in all the time he was with them. When Arthur got closer and saw the two men seemingly in cahoots, his eyes narrowed and he looked wary of what was going on.

_“Arthur, take our friend Charles to Blackwater will you? And pack well, y’all gonna be there for three days.”_

Arthur looked severely unhappy to hear that he’s been sent off on a mission, in the middle of planning what seemed to Charles like one of the most ambitious robberies the gang possibly ever executed. Charles made sure not to make any direct eye contact with the blond, but he waited to see if Dutch would get any lip from his trusted right-hand man. Unsurprisingly, Arthur mumbled his discontent and started heading over to his tent to pack. To say Charles was scared at how loyal this man was to Dutch was probably an overstatement, but it was definitely the first time he ever been affiliated with a gang, let alone with this many white people in it, and so he dismissed it as ignorance on his part.

_“I can tell y’all about to be the best of friends.”_

Dutch laughed a good belly laugh at that and then the conversation was over, he went back to dancing with his gramophone. Charles really didn’t like to complain or challenge orders when they were given to him, but he’d always had difficulty with sitting idle if something didn’t sit right with him. It was one of the main skills he had to have while hunting, especially with a target this elusive. He just sighed and headed off to his tent to get his stuff together. And now here they both were, just twenty minutes away from Blackwater.

It was a very quiet ride. Both of them weren’t men of many words but they both knew that the other was not usually this quiet. It was awkward and bordering on uncomfortable, but Charles wasn’t above pettiness and from what he was observing, Arthur wasn’t either. He could feel the man’s eyes on him at points during their trip. Their horses veered between walking and trotting to Blackwater. It was cold and Charles was already worried that he put Taima through enough when he was found by the gang, and then all the constant running they did through the mountains. Arthur probably felt the same way about his Boadicea because besides himself, he hadn’t seen any other member care so well for their horse. Charles’ eyes flickered over to said man’s horse and saw that she did look healthy. Her coat was shiny and well-brushed and even now she was carelessly smacking on an apple that Arthur gave to her sometime during their travels. Arthur patted her head affectionately and the horse closed her eyes and whipped an ear to show that she appreciated the gesture. Charles liked seeing that there was another person in the group that cared for animals beyond a food source.

When they got to Blackwater, Charles grimaced. He really didn’t like being in towns, especially this deep south. It was towns like this that nearly got him beat to death just for existing. It was a dustball of a town too. Before he even saw any people he counted at least eight tumbleweeds, over ten hitched horses, and the occasional cat and dog. It was the middle of the day, the sun was already well past scorching, and if the townsfolk were hiding out from the heat then he surely couldn’t blame them. He stopped in front of the saloon, Arthur followed after his lead. While they were leading their horses to the hitching post, he heard Arthur clear his throat, a sign that he was finally ready to start conversation.

“What you hunting here exactly?”

Charles threw the rope over the post and gave Taima gentle pats so that she wouldn’t be too alarmed at being left alone. He could see the blond out of the corner of his eye. Arthur looked curious, and if Charles could guess, maybe just a bit eager for a response.

“Remember that beast Micah was talking about?”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he threw his reins over the hitching post too, leaning carefully against it as he tried to muse over what to say next.

“Sure. That’s what you been hunting?”

“Mhm.”

Arthur’s shoulders moved and Charles wasn’t sure if it was to loosen the muscle or if he found something about this funny. If there was humor involved Charles liked to laugh too.

“You seen this beast before?”

“Twice, I think.”

Arthur was interested in hearing those stories, but they weren’t very interesting and Charles didn’t much feel like telling stories. He ended whatever clumsy attempt at conversation Arthur was starting and went inside, leaving his riding partner alone with the horses. Charles realized that all of the people were hiding from the sun in the comfort of the liquor-stocked saloon because there were at least a dozen people hanging around the bar and he could only imagine how many were upstairs sleeping off their hangovers or soliciting love from a working girl. He managed to worm his way in the crowd of people leaning on the bar, he ignored that everyone there tried to be as unhelpful as possible making space for him. He signaled for the bartender who clearly saw him, but continued servicing the three men in front of him. He rolled his eyes and waved again for the bartender’s attention and he confirmed that the tender was indeed just racist trash.

“Excuse me partner, I know you see my friend here asking for your services.”

He turned around and saw that Arthur was standing behind him, looking irritated with his hand in the air to make sure that he caught the bartender’s attention. The man behind the counter immediately came walking over and appearing as apathetic as possible he asked Charles for his order.

“Two shots of whiskey and beers please.”

The bartender gave a curt nod and moved to make the drinks. While he was occupied with that, Charles turned back to Arthur who was staring at the shot of whiskey being prepared, and the other man noticed that he was careful not to look Charles in the eye the whole time. He really wished that Dutch just let him go alone. When the drinks were slid over to him he took one bottle and one glass and pushed the remainder to Arthur.

“I don’t like that you had to do that, but here. A thanks for getting us these drinks.”

“Sure.”

Arthur pressed his lips together and nodded before hesitantly raising his glass for a cheers. Charles obliged him and they downed their shot and moved on to the bottle. Charles didn’t want to start his hunting drunk, but he could do with a pleasant buzz. When he was about halfway into his bottle he patted Arthur on the shoulder.

“I’m going to start asking around. We’re going to be here for at least a night or two, I don’t want a repeat of this happening with the hotel owner.”

“You want me to get the rooms for us.” Arthur finished Charles’ trail of thought, but the hunter didn’t miss the way that he sounded vaguely hurt at his dismissal, and it did leave him feeling guilty for at least a minute or two. He knew that he was being less than kind, and that what happened to him wasn’t Arthur’s fault, but he was mistrustful of him because of what happened the night they met. He was mistrustful of anyone period and that’s why he spent so much of his time alone rather than a large group of people. Dutch didn’t call him the lone wolf for no reason. He wondered if the man knew the irony in calling him that.

Charles opened his mouth to give something akin to an apology but Arthur just waved a hand at him that shut him right up. He took another gulp of his beer and left with it, no doubt heading to the hotel to do as he was told. That was another thing that struck him as odd. If Arthur was one of the three original gang members, that means that if he gave Charles any form of command or direction he was supposed to follow it. But then here he was being bossed around by a relative stranger who hadn’t even rolled with them for longer than a year. Here was when guard dog was a more applicable term to the big cowboy. He saw the way Arthur relished having to accompany Charles to town like he was a child that lost his way, but if he had any complaints he definitely didn’t let them be known to either Dutch or Charles, which was odd because he could rip the new recruit a new one and Charles, by hierarchical standards, would just have to take it. To the others it probably seemed like Charles was the hard-ass lieutenant and Arthur the long-suffering gang member. He didn’t like that thought much. He should probably let up on him, considering that the only thing Arthur did was approach him wrong during their first conversation.

He would apologize later, but first he had to get some sort of lead on that damned beast. He didn’t know why he told Dutch it would only take him three days when they already spent half of the first day away just getting there, and now they were already in a saloon. He chugged the rest of his drink and threw it when he left the bar. He walked over to the paper boy who was energetically screaming the headliners of the current issue.

“Read all about it, a beast attacked a wagon coming into Blackwater two nights ago!”

Charles hated that this was his only lead for now, but he couldn’t take his chances approaching randoms at the bar again for fear of what happened last time, doubly so because Dutch made it expressly clear that the two of them under no circumstances were to make any trouble before they pulled off the robbery. He flashed the dollar bill to the scrawny boy and was happily given a paper in exchange.

“This story’s worth the read, I promise!”

Charles gave the boy an extra two dollars just for being nice to him. He sat on the steps of the train station and started reading the story.

**1899**

**Two women, aged 35 and 16 were mauled while riding their wagon into Blackwater a little past eight just two days ago. According to the husband of the oldest woman, whose name is Sally Mae Jebson, she and their daughter were coming from her mother’s house in Emerald Ranch for their bi-weekly visit. He found it strange that they weren’t back half-past five as he received a letter that detailed their return. He waited outside for them and nearly passed out at the sight of his daughter and wife bloodied, clothes near clean torn off of them, and both women white as a sheet. There was one horse that seemed to have survived, the other died shortly after making it into town. The mother was near death but was able to be saved by the doctor after hours of surgery and a trip from the priest, the child that she was carrying did not survive the stress of the incident, but Miss Jebson is expected to make a full recovery. The daughter was hysterical, only able to mutter a few words at a time about a “beast” with golden fur. She said that it was strong, stronger than any dog she’s ever seen. It attacked the horses mercilessly and only barely restrained itself from killing her and her mother. The beast’s whereabouts are currently unknown. Protect yourself, people of Blackwater!**

Charles winced the entire article, unable to understand why the beast didn’t just kill them. As horrible as it was, he would have to find the family, what’s left of it, and ask them anything they knew about the beast and which way it was headed. It was tough work but it had to be done. The sooner this beast was dead the sooner everyone could rest. Until another one popped up in its place. He rolled the paper up and started heading over to the hotel to check on how Arthur was doing. Luckily, said man was walking out and already heading over to him.

“What you got there?”

“The paper. It has some pretty horrid details about the attack. A pregnant woman and her daughter, thankfully both of them survived.”

He passed the paper over to Arthur, who looked just as disturbed as he was. When he was finished reading he gave the paper back to Charles, who shoved it in his coat pocket.

“That’s bad business.”

“It usually is. How did it go at the hotel?”

Arthur faltered for a moment and rubbed at the back of his neck. Charles raised a brow, waiting to hear what could have possibly gone wrong from ordering rooms.

“About that, um…”

“What no negroes allowed?”

“No…well…not quite.”

“What is it then?”

“We have to share a room is all.”

Charles knew that more transpired until the “shared room” condition was agreed upon and as much as he wanted to know, that would have to wait until their investigation… _his_ investigation was up. He knew that he said he was going to practice being nicer to Arthur, but he was unhappy at hearing that they had to share a room for the duration of their stay. He was hoping to work on this in private at least in the comfort of his own room, but he hoped for a lot of things that never came. He sighed at the news and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s the best we got right now. I don’t want to be camped too far from town, and I have to spend the rest of the night asking around anyway.”

“Would you…do you want some help?”

Charles almost said yes just because of how much Arthur looked like he was begging for Charles to take him along, to make him useful. He wasn’t lying, he could use the help, but he didn’t want to involve anyone that wasn’t already affiliated with his line of work. It could be too dangerous and while he and Arthur weren’t too close, he would feel awful if this man died because of him. He shook his head.

“Right now, I just need to follow this lead, I’ll come get you if anything comes of it. What will you do till then?”

If Arthur looked vaguely hurt earlier, he was definitely hurt now. Why? Why was he so eager to help Charles? He put his head down so that his eyes were covered by his hat.

“Make myself scarce I guess…”

And Charles watched as Arthur trudged his way into the saloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to be clear that they don't hate each other! Charles is just really used to being alone!! 
> 
> Stay tuned for some good ole mild angst in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Shortly after Charles and Arthur went their separate ways, Arthur found himself in the one place he always did when he wanted to feel sorry for a little while. The Blackwater saloon was big, big enough that the sight of him wouldn’t cause too much of a fuss. He kept telling himself that he had to maintain a low profile or else he would have to deal with much more than a difficult riding partner. He really did want to go with Charles, to help protect him at least. He wasn’t sure why the man was so hell-bent on finding the beast in the first place, but he just wanted the hunter to know that the beast wasn’t the most dangerous enemy to face. It was these ignorant, in-bred people that hated anyone that didn’t look or act like them. When Charles told him that he was going alone, he wanted to call him a fool and tell him that the last time he tried to do whatever he was doing alone, he would have died from hypothermia if Dutch didn’t find him. But he didn’t want to fight with Charles, he already did enough of that when he first joined and now it soured whatever relationship they could have had. He signaled the bartender and noticed that this time around the man was at his side in record time with a bottle of whiskey.

“Is your friend not with you?”

“Partner, just fill the glass and shut up.”

The bartender didn’t look too pleased to be told to shut up in his own place of establishment, but he poured the shot. He went to take the bottle but Arthur snatched it from him and put it back down. The tender huffed and walked away to go service his dumber, more docile drunken clientele. For a split second, he thought about calling the bartender back and ripping him a new one for the abominable way he treated his friend. He downed the shot and poured another. He laughed to himself. His friend. He must’ve been a bigger fool than he thought. Charles would tell him off for defending him, that he didn’t need anyone, certainly not a white man to defend him from other white men. He sighed and thought about the news article he read and hated himself.

He didn’t _mean_ to attack those women.

He hoped Charles would need him soon. He took another shot and the whiskey burned going down but he felt warm when it did.

\------------

Charles opened the door to the doctor’s office. The doctor in question was a white man with short gray hair, his jacket was stained with blood and he was helping himself to a cigarette. He looked pale and distant, he didn’t even notice Charles enter. The visitor cleared his throat. The doctor blinked twice and finally took in the sight of who was standing in front of him.

“I’m closed.”

It was half-past five and Charles was inclined to believe him, but he was a doctor and if he was closed then his door wouldn’t be unlocked. He pointed towards the shabby green door.

“Do you usually keep in the habit of leaving your door open then? Forgive me, friend, but that is just a little confusing.”

The doctor flicked his cigarette and tossed it to the floor. Charles could see the effort he put into stomping it out by the angry, jerky movements of his body.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Bleeding, burned, dying? Have you got a cold or something?”

Charles was reminded of the Grizzlies and he winced. He shook his head and the doctor threw his arms up in exasperation. To see the man acting that erratically, and quite frankly, unprofessionally, he could see that he was scared about something. That much was certain. He had a clue about what made this man so frightened, but he needed the doctor to tell him.

“Well then, if you aren’t in need of any urgent care then kindly step out of my office!”

Charles shook his finger and crossed his arms. He went over to one of the four empty cots in the tiny room. It had dried blood on it, some sprinkled on the top, but there was a large dark brown spot towards the foot of it. He looked at the one next to it and saw that it was drenched with blood that couldn’t quite be cleaned out. There was a pail filled with dark water and a soiled rag next to the cots; the doctor was staring at the beds, reliving whatever horrible experience he went through prior to Charles’ arrival.

“…you…you read the paper right?”

The doctor’s feigned anger seemed to melt away just by following Charles’ line of sight. His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to rouse anymore trouble in his shop. Charles decided to ease up on the intimidation and focused on charm and comfort.

“I did, but I’m sure it was worse than what the article makes it out to be.”

The doctor’s shoulders shook as a mirthless chuckle overcame him. He looked like walking dead.

“…You ever had to remove a fetus from a woman’s body?”

“Can’t say that I have, no.”

“What I wouldn’t give to be you. I thought that I was a good doctor, I took care of these people, helped birth their children, tended to their dead loved ones…gave them first aid as they needed it…”

The doctor’s face shriveled into an awful face and then Charles heard the soft sobs that came from the pitiful man.

“But then…then this damned beast came and…lord the way they came in. Their husband, Daniel, he came in a blubbering mess. He was holding his wife, her dressed all ripped up she was immodest. Her belly was…it was poking out, but she had three large gashes going across it…and she _bled,_ lord did she bleed. Her eyes was closed, she was white, reckon whiter than them sheets. I thought she was dead already but Daniel was so insistent that I could save her and I wanted to.”

Charles couldn’t let this man go on like this without giving him some sort of comfort.

“And you did, the paper said they survived the attack, Mrs. Jebson is expected to make a full recovery. Their daughter is alive---”

“No friend they ain’t making no full recovery! The paper spouted that horseshit to keep the townsfolk calm. I can’t explain it to you…I really can’t. Them poor women, they ain’t never gonna be the same after that. Their daughter, little Frannie…she can’t say nothing more but ‘beast’. They both came in no more than bloody messes, one so near death she probably don’t even remember being here, the other so frightened…so shaken up that her hands was trembling. She couldn’t hold the cup of tea my wife offered her, she yelled at us and warned that the smell of the blood on her clothes was going to bring that animal back. I had to sedate her so as to calm her down. She’s sixteen…she ain’t never gonna have a life now….”

The doctor stopped talking. He took in a sharp breath and grabbed at the collar of his coat. Charles let him take as much time to compose himself. He figured that he wasn’t going to get much more out of the doctor, but he couldn’t just leave him like that when he was the reason he was forced to relive that night.

“I don’t think Frannie got too much longer on this earth. Mr. Jebson came through today, told me she ain’t eating. Asked if I had anything to give her an appetite.”

“Do you?”

“I’m just a doctor, friend….I’m only a doctor….”

Charles was immediately regretting coming to talk to him, but he needed the information, and he got it. He just wasn’t sure if this is what he needed or wanted to hear. He cleared his throat, trying to bring the poor man back to the present. But his eyes were fixed on those bloody sheets. He should change them, scrubbing wasn’t working, it was just spreading and staining everything more. Where was the doctor’s wife?

“Sir, I understand that what you’ve been through was rough, no way around that. But I just need one thing, can you give me the directions to the Jebson household?”

Those lifeless amber eyes darted right over to Charles. Jolted like he came too. His bushy brows furrowed and then the man knew that he was going to yell at him again.

“What for? Ain’t you just heard what I told you? You said you read the paper, leave it be, boy! They ain’t in the condition for no nosy negroes poking about in they business. Just leave them be!”

Charles held both his hands up, a last resort to show the frazzled man that he had no ill intent and truly was trying to help them heal better without the threat of the wolf.

“Listen, I’m only asking because I hunt beasts like those. My family’s been doing it for centuries, I know how to kill creatures like the one that attacked the Jebsons. If you give me the directions, I’ll go have a chat and then leave them alone. I promise you that. All I’m asking is that you help me give them peace of mind; give the whole town peace of mind. They know the beast’s last whereabouts and hopefully I can use that knowledge to finally kill it like I’ve been trying to do for a long time now. Will you help me?”

The doctor’s face was red and puffy from crying and succumbing to the mental images that will definitely haunt him for the rest of his days. Charles wished that he was unused to it, but this is what always happened when these creatures ran amok. They hurt, they killed, and they ruined people’s lives and it was truly up to him to hunt them down to prevent them from causing any more damage. He was the only one left in his family, and part of the handful of hunters that roamed the country. It was a hard life, but if it meant that people like this doctor, and families like the Jebsons were safe from harm, then it was all worth it. The doctor looked torn, like he wanted to be adamant in his shooing Charles away, but that his words hit him in a place where he was wary to not give him in the information he sought. He let out a cry of frustration and placed his head in his hands. He was crying again and Charles was careful not to do or say anything that would set him off further.

“They live in that gray house down the road. It’s the last house just before you leave town.”

Charles saw that the doctor refused to look him in the eyes again. He didn’t have the heart to give him shit about it, so he turned and started walking out, giving a soft thanks and a farewell, leaving that broken shell of a man alone in the office that was supposed to be closed. When the door was shut, Charles let out a long exhale and started brainstorming on what to do next. He wasn’t sure how long he was in there, but he saw that the sun was getting lower. His first day off Dutch’s leash was almost done, and now he would have to work double-time it before he had to go back to camp. He looked down the road to where the doctor said the Jebsons lived and he had half a mind to go at that moment, but he found himself drained mentally and physically. He didn’t let Arthur set camp on the way to Blackwater, and that talk with the doctor was more than what he was expecting. When it came to him interrogating people it was always a mixture of angry, confused people that couldn’t quite come to terms with what they’ve seen. Or people like the doctor. Weepy, haunted, terrified. It always took quite a bit of mental preparation on Charles’ end, but being with the Van der Linde gang, and being occupied with their affairs didn’t leave him with much room to prep himself for the horrors of werewolf attacks. He was thirsty, and even if he didn’t stay long with the doctor, he really could use a drink.

Plus it was time to check on Arthur anyway.

He yawned and started walking towards the saloon. It was later now, people were finished with work and minding their stores so they came to decompress, just like him. There were even more people than he remembered last, and the place was in full-swing. The piano player was fully into whatever song he was playing for the intoxicated patrons. He amassed a small crowd who was doing everything but dancing to the music. The bar wasn’t so crowded, and he was dreading having another encounter with the bartender, but he wanted that bottle of beer more. Just when he got near enough to the bar he heard the familiar gruff voice that could only belong to Arthur. He found himself gravitating near it, hearing his voice get louder with proximity; then he was standing right next to him.

Arthur was very, _very_ , drunk. Charles wasn’t too pleased at the sight of his riding partner inebriated when he was only left alone for just under an hour. How many shots did he take? There was a bottle of whiskey stood next to his shot glass, the bottle was nearly finished. Charles turned to the bartender, who was pouring him another drink!

“I think he’s had enough!”

Charles didn’t mean to sound that angry, but this bartender was plying Arthur with alcohol knowing full well that he was past drunk and was probably black out or very close to it. Why the hell was he drinking so much?

“Charles!” Arthur hiccuped and clapped a sloppy unsteady hand onto the man’s shoulder. If he were sober he wouldn’t even have considered touching Charles in this way. The sober man wanted to think that this was unwelcomed, but he would have enjoyed it more if he wasn’t drunk.

“Charles! Come…come and…and…come have a drink with me!”

Charles really wanted to be mad with him, but he found himself irritated more with the bartender than the actual drunkard himself. He was glad that he was at least able to hide the smile that was fighting to come through. Arthur’s smile was goofy, and his eyes were lidded, clouded with whiskey and beer. He was friendly, much friendlier than anyone who ever knew him sober would think. But he had to get him away from this damned bar!

“I was going to have a drink, but I’m not going to drink with you, you’re too drunk, Arthur.”

Charles felt guilty just seeing Arthur’s normal hurt face, but seeing it now, it was hard. Arthur truly looked like a kicked puppy and his hand slid off Charles’ shoulder. He sadly went to pour himself another shot, Charles put a firm hand on Arthur’s wrist to stop him from gulping down the drink.

“Arthur, no more.”

Arthur looked at him like he was just told he was scum of the earth. He tried to wrestle his arm free from Charles, but he wasn’t in the right condition to do it without spilling the drink.

“Get off me, Charles…if you ain’t drinking with me, I’ll keep drinking with myself like I been doing!”

Charles didn’t want to make a scene, but he really in good faith couldn’t let Arthur sit there and drink himself into passing out. He would be remembered for this, not to mention that Charles was going to need his help with the investigation and he couldn’t help if he was stumbling drunk. He already knew that they were both going to have a shitty morning because of the oncoming hangover, so he was just going to take him back to the hotel to sleep it off. He was tired anyway.

“Arthur, please come back with me to the hotel.”

“Oh _now_ you want me to come somewhere with you! You been trying to get rid of me the whole bloody day!”

That caught Charles off-guard, and he let go of Arthur. The man took advantage and downed the shot.

“I saw you, Charles. I saw the way you looked at me when Dutch told me to come with you. I know you don’t like me, but I just want to know why!”

Charles decided very quickly from the stares of the other patrons that this wasn’t the place to have this discussion. With very little protest from the drunk man, Charles hoisted him off the stool and ushered him out. Arthur confusedly asking him where they were going, words slurring, he was walking like his feet were tied together.

“Let me go back! I won’t be no bother to you there!”

“Arthur, hush up and let me take you back to the hotel. You’re one drink away from passing out!”

Arthur fought some more and tried to shimmy himself out of Charles’ grasp on the way to their room. Charles sighed, it was like tending to a child. A very sad child, but a child nonetheless.

“It’s definitely going to be a long night…” he mumbled to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be leaving for Italy on the 27th! I'll have internet there but I'll need a few days to settle in so updates might be just a touch slower! 
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying so far!


	7. Chapter 7

Charles had come barreling into the hotel, scaring the desk clerk in the process at the resounding thud he made when he crashed into the wall. Arthur was already heavy, and with him being this drunk, it was like there was an added ten pounds. Lord help Charles, though, because Arthur made sure to voice how much he did not want Charles to take him back to the hotel room, drawing suspicion from some of the townspeople the entire way.

“Let go of me!”

The desk clerk fixed his tie and attempted to look somewhere between professional and intimidating.

“That’s enough!”

“So then let me _go_!”

Charles thought he was handling a child, this was objectively worse than that. The hotel clerk was looking at them curiously. Charles did his best to smile and pretend that all was well.

“My friend here got a room for us earlier?”

The clerk looked down at Arthur, who worked himself up to the point where his cheeks were puffed out  and his face was red as he tried to catch his breath after acting like a fool. He was still being restrained by Charles, a tight arm wrapped around the waist.

“What is his name?”

The long-suffering man sighed and flipped open the ledger. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Arthur never told him what name he wrote their room booking under. He remembered being told by Dutch a short while after he was recruited that the gang tended to use fake names if they were fresh off a bounty, or their wanted level was too high. Would Arthur even do that in a town that no one knew him? He flipped through the ledger, thinking that maybe this was another act of spite on his partner’s account. He stopped when he saw Arthur’s neat cursive written onto the yellowed page.

_Tacitus Kilgore – 104_

Charles’ face contorted as he read the name once. Then again. And again. Who the hell was Tacitus Kilgore? Was that his real name? The one Dutch was referring to? Is ‘Arthur’ an alias? Why was this gang so confusing? The answers would have to wait because right now, he needed to get “Tacitus” to bed, or at the very least, near a toilet in case he needed to be sick.

“Tacitus…Kilgore.”

Even saying it aloud took five years off his life. The hotel clerk eyed Arthur carefully one more time and then gave one last hard look at Charles before he gave him the key.

“Upstairs, last door on your right.”

Charles bowed his head courteously before hoisting Arthur back up under his arm to get him up the stairs. Arthur stumbled and staggered the entire way before they both managed to get to the top.

“Come on, Arthur, help me out here a little.”

“No!”

It was nice to know that Arthur was refusing to be helpful while he was being near carried into their room. Charles was just going to force the narrative in his mind that the man was actually too drunk to walk but he would rather Charles think he’s doing it on purpose rather than unintentionally. Actually, now that he thought about it, that sounded more on the nose than what he originally was told. It still didn’t make him feel any better. He could’ve been out by now searching for more clues, but here he was playing nursemaid to this overgrown baby. Charles somehow was able to fish the key out his pocket, while still holding Arthur steadfast to his side. He tried a few more times to wriggle his way out, but he was always stopped by Charles giving him warning squeezes with his arm. The last time Charles did it, Arthur faltered a little in his grasp and so his gut was squeezed by his captor’s arm. Charles recoiled quickly when he heard his captive’s gag. He opened the door by the grace of whatever deity granted him the mercy, and Arthur swung it open the rest of the way, making his way to the window. He opened it swiftly, ducking his head out after and throwing up. Charles made a noise of disgust and turned to take his jacket off, while Arthur was kneeling on his bed, puking up whatever was in his stomach. Charles warned him earlier that he didn’t have any food in his stomach. Arthur retched again.

“You know, Arthur, I expected more from you.”

Through pants, Arthur replied, “You ain’t my damn daddy.”

“No. I’m not.”

Arthur paused the conversation to throw up yet again. This time his retching sounded a touch more violent since he was nearing nothing in his stomach.

“I’m trying to help, Charles! Trying to make myself useful to you. I know you ain’t want me coming with you! That you don’t care too much for my presence!”

Charles wasn’t quite sure on how to respond to that. Arthur screamed something like that when he caught him at the saloon again. He looked and sounded genuinely upset about it too. It was true that he didn’t want Arthur coming along, but it wasn’t because he didn’t like him. Charles didn’t hate Arthur in the slightest. Of course, he couldn’t really say that they were friends yet either. Charles just couldn’t trust like that, and of course, Arthur would never call him out on it. But then he was reminded of how Arthur tried to get him out of their camp. How he kept telling him that there wasn’t enough food for him too and only let him stay when he found out he could hunt.

“It’s funny. Seemed like you didn’t care too much for my presence when I first met you all.”

Arthur’s face was half-turned to face him. The sweat on his forehead illuminated by the moonlight on his silhouette. He looked tired and Charles knew that there was no point to arguing with him because he was too drunk to be reasoned with and even still, he probably wouldn’t remember in the morning anyway.

“What you talking about?”

“I mean the way you kept trying to kick me out of the gang, Arthur. The way you were so adamant that I couldn’t stay because there wasn’t ‘enough’ food. You know how many times I’ve heard that in my life?

“When you showed up we only had half a deer left and two rabbits! I ain’t even eat for three days before you met us. It weren’t no excuse, it were the truth!”

“And all the times you’ve tried to interrogate me then? Tried to ‘monitor’ me whenever I went out on a hunt?”

“I weren’t monitoring you!”

“There was no trust, Arthur! Admit that you were wary of me. Did you think that maybe I was going to make off with all of your items in the night? That I was going to bolt the first chance Dutch let me go on a job with him? Admit to yourself and to me that you thought I was a liar.”

Arthur spun around quickly, and held his head as he suffered the consequences for moving so fast. Charles’ body tensed as he, despite growing irritated with him, stood and watched, ready to help him if anything went awry. He was in a miserable state, but Charles can’t say that he wasn’t partially the cause of it.

“I ain’t take you for no liar, Charles. And yes, I was suspicious of you, but I did that with near everyone that Dutch takes in. We been running a long time, reckon we got more enemies than we do them that wants to help us.

“And what do you think of me now, huh? What has the six months we spent together told you about me?”

Arthur looked Charles up and down before waving a hand towards him dismissively and moving to lay down now that his belly was sufficiently emptied.

“I still barely know you, six months be damned, Charles.”

Something hardened in Charles when he heard him say that.

“And I can say the same for you.”

Charles crossed his arms and stared at the sight of Arthur Morgan sprawled over his bed ungracefully, and arguing with his eyes shut because of the spins he had. The sober man had to remember that there was no use in getting angry. Arthur was just drunk, and he was just tired from that taxing conversation he had with the doctor earlier. It was one thing to hear the horrible night that those two women were attacked, but to come back to your hotel room expecting a quiet night in while you thought up plans for tomorrow, and instead finding that you have to take care of your drunken companion, that exhausted Charles on a different kind of level. Arthur groaned and Charles rolled his eyes.

“I’m getting you some water, drink it, alright?”

Arthur mumbled something about not wanting any damned water.

“Arthur you need some water in you. I’m off to the general store, see if I can get us some bread or something.”

The grumbling became more unintelligible and soon Arthur had his back to him. Charles stood there and listened until he heard the snoring coming from the now sleeping man. He walked over to Arthur and gave him a once over before leaving the room, pocketing the key as he went. When he made it downstairs, he saw the clerk looking frantic and watching him intensely as he left the hotel. He should’ve found it stranger, but most everybody looked at him like that, and even then, with the way he made his introduction with Arthur, it’s understandable that he’d be a bit awkward around him. He ignored it and made his way to the general store. He made his way to the bread table and began to softly squeeze the bread. Arthur’s already done a number on himself, the last thing he needed to do was knock a tooth out trying to eat stale bread.

“That bread been baked fresh this morning!”

The storekeeper managed to shout that happily from across the store. It was just Charles in it, he was about to close. He gave the bread another squeeze and the storekeeper was right, it was softer than what he was expecting.

“How much?”

“I was just going to toss that bread since I’m about ready to close. I’ll give it to you for one dollar, how about that?”

Charles whistled. It was a whole dollar less than what it would’ve been earlier, so he can’t complain about the price. He nodded and walked over to the elderly man, giving him the bill and then waving a good night walking out of the store. That was the nicest any store-owner had been to him since he came to this part of the country. He made his way back into the hotel and noticed that the clerk wasn’t there. He ignored that too and made his way back up to his shared room with Arthur and came back and found the man once more hunched over the window, dry-heaving. It sounded painful.

“Arthur, Arthur I got bread.”

Arthur wiped at his mouth and then sunk back to the bed, groaning as he huddled in on himself. Charles set the bread on the table and took his knife out, and began to cut it into slices. He cut about half of the loaf before he deemed it satisfactory enough. He cleaned the crumbs of his hands and was about to feed Arthur a few pieces when he heard two firm knocks at the door.

“That’s strange.”

He only managed to take one step before Arthur slurred, “Where you off to now? Don’t even want to be in the same room with me, huh?”

Charles shushed him and shook his head.

“Shush. I left bread on the table, and drink the water on your nightstand. Someone knocked and I’m just going to find out who it was, okay?”

Arthur hummed and his body moved up and down slowly, every other breath was a snore. The knocks were heard again and Charles walked over. When he opened the door, it was the hotel clerk and a police officer.

“That’s him, officer! He kidnapped the man in there, I’m sure of it!”

The officer tipped his cap and Charles, stunned into silence was slammed against the wall just outside the room and the clerk closed the door.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just taking you in for a few questions, boy, ain’t nothing to concern yourself with.”

“I didn’t kidnap him!”

“Of course you didn’t, boy.”

Charles tried to resist, but the cop kept jabbing his elbow into his back. The hotel clerk walked with them all the way to the entrance of the hotel. Charles kept looking back confused and worried.


	8. Chapter 8

The cell doors slammed just as Charles was shoved onto the wood that was to be his bed for the night. He groaned when he heard the all-too familiar sound of keys shifting around in a lock. The sheriff was still standing there. Charles had his back facing to him, he broke his fall on his knees and his arms were splayed out on the bed. The sheriff started talking, his drawl irking Charles to his very core.

“Why you out here, boy?”

This wasn’t Charles’ first time being imprisoned, and he felt somewhere inside that it wouldn’t be his last. He didn’t say a thing, knowing full well that could be the difference between spending the night in a cell, and being quietly lynched out back. Turned out, the sheriff wasn’t looking for a response either. Charles heard the tobacco being spat out into the spittoon.

“That man upset you? Call you too many cuss words?”

Charles’ mind and heart were racing. He just wanted the officer to leave, go find someone else to needlessly harass or get drunk and pass out. Was that the issue? Was he staying because Charles wasn’t taking the bait? What the hell did he want him to say, “yes sir I absolutely kidnapped my very drunk roommate, sir”? Even if he was tortured and threatened with a hanging he still wouldn’t speak. There was nothing to admit to because he’d done nothing wrong.

“You was…you was sharing a room with him. What was you planning to do? I bet it weren’t nothing nice.”

Charles could feel his nails breaking the skin of his palm inside his fist. His patience was already stretched thin enough and this wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“Bet you want to say you ain’t do nothing. You ain’t kidnap him. Did you?”

Charles huffed, his knees digging into the cold floor of the cell, the jagged edges slowly scraping away at the skin of his kneecaps. Something about all this tickled the sheriff’s funny bone. He could hear the man chuckling.

“You look like a redskin, bet you ain’t know much English out up in them woods. What y’all be speaking out there?”

“Depends, what’s out there?”

He had enough of the sheriff. It was clear that he wanted some sort of acknowledgement, some sign that he was getting under Charles’ skin. But Charles was always able to keep his voice steady even when he was ready to lose his temper. The sheriff seemed mildly surprised that he talked at all, he eventually schooled his face back to the intimdating one he thought he wore. Charles appreciated the effort.

“Well, what you got to say for yourself?”

Charles didn’t even know where to begin. What could he say for himself? He joined a gang because he was hurt and lonely and now he was in jail for a crime he didn’t even commit. He could say that he was born with this stroke of bad luck and that he wasn’t surprised that he ended up in a situation like this.

“I ain’t kidnap him. We came into town together…he just got too drunk is all.”

“Oh well that’s mighty kind of you, ain’t it?” The sheriff’s tone dripping with sarcasm. “Taking care of your friend!”

“I couldn’t leave him like that, he was going to do something reckless.”

“And look at the two of you now. He all tucked in at the hotel and you here with me.”

“That’s because that hotel clerk was a fool!”

The sheriff spat again and leaned forward on the bars.

“Clerk told me that when y’all came in, your _friend_  was making an awful fuss about not wanting to be with you. Now, why would he do that if y’all was friendly-like?”

Charles was tired now, and he just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to open his eyes and it was morning and the sheriff was letting him walk free.

“I told you, he was drunk. I won’t repeat myself.”

The sheriff mocked surprise.

“Whoa, wow! Get a load of this boy telling me what he ain’t gonna do!”

Charles grumbled and thought that his knees were past the point of numbness and so he hoisted himself up onto the bed. He sighed loudly, throwing an arm over his face. He didn’t know whether the sheriff was going to stay there and continue to rant and assert his dominance to no one, or if he was going to give up and go bother that bottle of moonshine on his desk. He got his wish when he heard the sheriff pshaw and his boots scuffling along the floor until the chair creaked from being sat on. He was still mumbling something under his breath but Charles just wanted a little peace and quiet. No sheriff ranting in his ear, and no drunk Arthur yelling up and down about he didn’t like him.

He wondered if Arthur ate the bread and drank the water. If he even realized what happened after Charles left the room.

He hoped that Arthur would come for him in the morning.

Seeing as there was no use in wishing for things that would ever happen, he settled uncomfortably on the bed and soon enough he found himself in the slightly more comfortable blackness of sleep. He was rattled awake by the sound of a door slamming open and shut so hard the chains the bed was supported by shook. Charles was blinded by the sun, remembering his environment dark and candlelit just before he went to bed. He squinted, unsure why he had a bed and why it was so uncomfortable. When he turned and saw the familiar grey of the cell bars he recalled all the shit he went through the last night. So was it Arthur then? Did he manage charging all the way down to the jail while he was hungover? Maybe he wasn’t because he threw all of it up the same night. He turned to the door and all his hopes were dashed when he saw Dutch’s imposing figure staring at him with his arms crossed. He looked upset, and Charles, as much as he was loathe to admit, knew he had valid reason to be. The sheriff was casually waving his hand over at Charles, while Dutch half-listened and bore into Charles’ poor soul.

“He were hauled off on account he were caught kidnapping, sir.”

In an instant, Dutch lost his intimidating posture quickly and went to a calm and friendly air so quickly, Charles thought he might have been still fuzzy with sleep. Dutch laughed and clapped a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder.

“Kidnapping? Take a good look at him, my friend. Does he look like the sort to be kidnapping?”

The sheriff looked Charles up and down, unsure of how to answer.

“The…the clerk said…”

“The clerk been working from dusk till dawn, his eyes are too tired and adjusted to that damn ledger he got to read, he won’t know a kidnapping from a robbery if it checked in his very establishment!”

Charles didn’t know Dutch very long, but he knew that one of Dutch’s talents was ranting. He could rant about why the sky was blue but it should be yellow cause the sun sits in it. And the worst thing about it is? Dutch’s rants always swayed at least one other mind in the room. He wouldn’t have had so many people in his gang, probably wouldn’t survived so long if it weren’t for that special skill. Hopefully, it would also be enough to get Charles out of his current predicament.

“The man he were with was hollering his head off about not wishing to be with him and I were told that he even made several attempts to flee the ‘napper!”

Dutch’s head snapped over to Charles.

“Why don’t _you_ tell me what this is all about?”

Charles cleared his throat, more than his freedom he wanted a sip of water. He knew that he would be foolish to ask for some but he can see the perfectly- filled pitcher that was perched on the sheriff’s desk. That and probably a bunch of money for the bounty hunters that frequented the place. He had half a mind to take it, as a sort of inconvenience fee for spending the night in prison. He remembered Dutch’s temper and then thought to double that reward. Now he was being asked for his retelling of the night, even though he felt like he’d been declaring his innocence all night.

“It was like I was telling this fool last night, my…friend had too much to drink and I was helping him get back to our hotel room.”

The sheriff stiffened and started tugging at his collar, Charles didn’t know if it was from the heat or from Dutch standing so close to him, pressing him without speaking. Charles continued.

“The clerk must’ve thought I was kidnapping him because Ar—I mean, _Tacitus_ wrote his name down on the ledger. He even told the clerk that he’d be expecting company.”

If there was anything that got Dutch’s ire going, it was injustice.

“If he was told that he was expecting guests, then why would he run all over town crying wolf? I got reason to suspect that what got that clerk all harried like that was because my friend wasn’t the ‘company’ he was expecting.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Charles hoped that Dutch wasn’t as quick to anger like Arthur was. It was obvious that sheriff was trying to goad him into picking a fight so he can toss him behind bars too.

“This person my friend was with, what color was he?”

The sheriff balked at him and moved to grab his belt.

“White.”

“And so y’all thought because you ain’t like the sight of these two men together, someone must be in trouble?”

The sheriff was silent and Charles was both curious to see this through but impatient because Dutch could’ve handed him the keys for as long as he’d been talking. Where was Arthur?

“Look, pal. Whatever you want to think you can, but the fact of the matter is this man ain’t in here for being a darkie, he in here for kidnapping!”

“And has anyone checked on this captive that he has in the room?”

The sheriff opened his mouth to speak and then his eyes bulged and he was at a loss for words. Dutch hummed and nodded as he saw the tiny man scurry out of the station and back over to the hotel. The moment they were alone, Dutch scowled at him and moved to the desk and fished out a pair of keys.

“You might want to tell me what the _hell_ you doing in here?”

Charles started and stopped many beginnings to a sentence, but nothing seemed to want to budge. He sighed, frustrated with the situation and himself and finally found the words.

“Arthur got too drunk last night, made a damned scene the whole way from the saloon.”

Dutch wanted to look angrier, but Charles had a hunch that the only reason he didn’t blow his lid was because it was Arthur that started it all. Dutch also didn’t seem too surprised to hear that once again Arthur’s drunkenness got him in trouble.

“He was screaming for me to let him go, and then started puking the moment we got in the room. He might still be at the hotel. With how much he drank last night…don’t think he’ll be moving for some time yet.”

“I let y’all go _two_ days on your own, and you still managed to get yourself locked up! Do they know your name?”

Charles scoffed.

“They like calling me ‘boy’ just fine.”

“Do they know Arthur’s?”

Charles shook his head, realizing that every utterance of that man was beginning to stir something in him. It didn’t feel good. Almost like a punch to the gut.

“Don’t think so. The fool wrote Tacitus Kilgore on the ledger. What kind of idiot name…”

“Hey!”

Dutch looked offended.

“It’s a good name, and he did right by putting it down. It’s an alias, I gave it to him few years back.”

Charles was taken aback by the revelation. He gave Arthur credit for coining it himself. It fit him, even though it was downright stupid. Somehow he had time to imagine Arthur reading it out of a book and just sticking with it whenever he was off being an outlaw. But to hear that Dutch was the one that gave it to him…

“I thought he was your son.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Charles realized that he had already overstepped with the last question so there was no choice but to go all the way with his insubordination.

“…why would you give him _that_ as an alias?”

Dutch looked as displeased as ever when Charles said that and the young man was more than ready to take the earful he was about to receive. He didn’t get one however, and was met with the relieving sound of keys opening his door. He was out in a flash and Dutch put the keys right back where they were found.

“You and I are going to have a long talk about this once we’re at camp, but right now, you go on and hide yourself somewhere while I go get Arthur.”

Charles wanted to look for him too, but he knew that Dutch was right. So he hummed and crept out the backdoor of the prison.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Arthur noticed when he woke up was that he could taste vomit in his mouth. He groaned and rolled over, also taking note that he was, one in a bed, and two, alone. The last thing he became aware of, and he hated that he missed the most obvious, was that he felt like pure _horseshit_. His head was throbbing all over and even a gesture as tiny as a blink made him wince and wish that instead of this hangover, God would have substituted it with death. Maybe he would change his mind later on in the day, but he doubted that his day was going to get much better than now. He learned young that if the day started off horribly, it was just going to get worse from there. Every time he wished that it was different, that maybe he would prove himself wrong, but time and time again nothing’s changed.

He needed a bath. And some food and water.

_“I left bread on the table, and drink the water on your nightstand.”_

Charles’ voice echoed in his head clear as day and it was painful. He placed a palm to his forehead in attempt to stop recollecting the memories of last night. He surely made a fool of himself and in front of Charles no less. The last thing he could remember clearly than the rest was when Charles came to get him at the saloon and he made a scene about it. He was drunk, well past drunk by the time Charles showed up. Arthur was mad and hurt at the treatment he’d been receiving the entire time they were together. By gang hierarchy, there was an unspoken rule that he was the one that was allowed to be aloof and cold towards the new recruit, but somehow Charles managed to twist that and make Arthur feel like he wasn’t supposed to be there, like he was wrong. He didn’t even want to come, but Dutch bade him to and he would be a poor lieutenant if he did not do as Dutch said. Charles wanted to go alone, and if it was Arthur’s choice he would’ve sent him off with nothing short of a pat on the back and well wishes. But that didn’t happen, and now Charles was gone and Arthur was nearly an invalid with the severity of his hangover. But he _needed_ that water that was across the room from his bed. He moved an inch and the nausea was almost too much to bear. He was sent back over the sill of his window and threw up nothing more than bile, hoping that someone wasn’t standing under there when it happened.

“Charles!”

Charles warned him, he did. He told him that he had enough but Arthur learned a very valuable lesson. The only other one his father impressed upon him aside from solving all your problems by punching someone, and that if you get drunk enough, you won’t even feel the self-hatred inside while doing it. You just drink until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

But it still hurt. Arthur still wanted to know where Charles was and if he was okay. The nail in the coffin would be that he got Charles hurt or worse because he was sad and even the whiskey couldn’t dull it. He sighed and heaved himself out of the bed, slightly dizzy and stumbling around. He was on that weird precipice of being completely hungover, but as it turned out he was just a little bit hungover and still drunk. To say that he was going to suffer later on was an understatement, but even if he did, he had to find Charles. No doubt it would please the man to see Arthur in such a state. He remembers that they did fight some more, but what about, he just couldn’t say. He blacked out not too long after Charles graced him with his presence, there were hazy retorts from whatever they shouted about in the room. Hopefully it wasn’t enough to get Charles to leave, was it? Arthur had an issue with his backtalk when he was sober, being drunk and lacking what little filter he had? A problem. A problem that Charles didn’t have to deal with. He poured some water into the cup that was waiting next to the pitcher. It was warm, he didn’t mind it. He swished the first swig around in his mouth, determined to get the bits of food that was lodged in between his teeth and the overall gross feeling of having caked in vomit coating his teeth and mouth. He spat out the window and this time he heard someone shouting from below. He ignored it, he had bigger things to worry about and for that poor soul’s sake down there, he should be lucky that it was just water instead of the real thing. He forced himself to eat a piece of the bread and was glad that his stomach settled when he swallowed. He carried it down with him to the lobby, looking for the hotel clerk and finding him dutifully behind the desk. He looked disheveled and almost as bad as Arthur.

“Long night, buddy?”

Arthur took a slow bite of the bread, reminding himself to be patient even if he was dangerously hungry and sick. The clerk moaned and ran a hand over his sweaty face. As if he’s seen a ghost.

“I did, and it got a lot to do with you, sir!”

The conversation came to a swift halt as Arthur tried to stop himself from choking on his food. He looked the clerk up and down, thinking that if he wasn’t so weak from the liquor, the man would have found his lip busted open.

“Me? I just asked you for a room is all!”

“Yes, yes you did.” The clerk’s tentative displeasure was apparent and it made Arthur very uncomfortable. Just what did he do, last night? Did this man know where Charles was?

“You asked me for a room and then you came barreling in last night with that…colored boy…and you was screaming your head off for him to let you go.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped and for a brief second he wondered if he could even stomach the rest of the bread. Arthur had thought a lot of things transpired after the saloon, he’d hoped that, for some reason, the night turned out a different way. He didn’t know what he would’ve preferred to happen, but whatever the clerk was telling him was not it.

“I’m…I’m afraid I don’t remember that.”

The clerk looked him up and down and tsked and him. He put his hands on his hips and Arthur didn’t take too kindly to the gesture. He couldn’t very well look intimidating holding a half-eaten piece of bread and looking two foot-steps off from throwing it all up, but he could try. Damn it, he could try.

“Now I don’t think I care too much for your tone, partner. What you getting at?”

“I’m saying _you_ and that _boy_ made a right scene and mess of things in my business! You was so drunk I was amazed that he was able to hold you upright at all. I thought you was being kidnapped, captured and about to be taken to whatever hovel that man was from, so I called the law and they came and took him away. You safe now, ain’t you?”

Charles was thrown in jail because of Arthur’s stupidity. Because Arthur was being childish and foolish and didn’t want Charles to see that his feelings were hurt. The first thing that flashed across his mind was Dutch and how angry he would be if he found out that one of the members got arrested before they even pulled off the heist. Arthur’s faced the brunt of Dutch’s anger before and it unsettled him more than he would ever admit. Charles was new and a reluctant member of the crew as it were. Dutch would not be so kind to him as he would be to Arthur or John. Worse, if Dutch did not catch him yet then he was at the mercy of the law and they weren’t kind to folks like Charles. If he hurried he could probably stop the executioner before he pulled the lever. His heart started racing at the mere thought of Charles being strung up for a crime he didn’t even commit. He felt sick again. This was all wrong. It was all wrong and all his fault. His anger towards the clerk was forgotten and the void was filled with anxiety and dread at all the things that could be happening to Charles while he argued with someone inconsequential.

“You called the law on him? He weren’t doing anything!”

“How was I supposed to know that? You sounded like you was in trouble and I do my due diligence to the folk that come in my place of establishment as well as the good name of Blackwater! I got to keep a keen eye on those…unsavory types that wander in! I ain’t done nothing wrong but make sure you was okay.”

Arthur, caught in the heat of the moment placed the bread on the front desk and substituted its soft texture for the starched cloth of the clerk’s collar.

“You best thank your stars that I don’t beat your face in right now.”

The clerk was scared out of his mind, and if Arthur had to place a guess to the millions of frantic thoughts running through the smaller man’s head, he would say that the man was wondering why he didn’t get Arthur locked up too. Arthur threw the man back, the clerk’s head jerked violently in the process and one part of the outlaw wished that he would break his neck in the process. The clerk clutched at his now ruined collar and besmirched dignity. He was trembling, all attempts to look intimdating were at best cute to Arthur, but now he was just terrified.

“I’ll give you something to be scared about if anything happened to that man you got locked up.”

That was a promise, a promise that he hoped the clerk knew he would keep. He didn’t speak word more, only turning on his heel and making his way to the jail as quickly as possible. If he was behind bars the whole night, that’s more than enough time for the sheriff to decide that he don’t like the look of Charles and do lord knows what to him. And it would be all Arthur’s fault, like a lot of things were. Because he was stupid and sad and couldn’t stick it out one more day to drown his sorrows in the comfort of his tent. He pulled out the bread, the stress of being awake and trying to right his wrongs made his stomach upset, he ripped off another piece and shoved it in his mouth, grumbling the entire way to the jail.

What Arthur was expecting to happen was that he was going to bust in there, do his usual “angry outlaw” bit and scare the sheriff into releasing Charles. Then the two of them would ride out of Blackwater and tell a little white lie to Dutch if either of them were asked about their time in the town. Instead, he was met with a poker-faced Charles, and an upset Dutch, walking just down the street from the sheriff’s office. Dutch spotted him first, and if Arthur was still the skinny fifteen-year-old that Dutch and Hosea picked up, he would’ve tried to high tail it out of there or until he was caught by his elders. But he was an old man now, too old to try to run from his wrong-doings (lord knows there wasn’t enough land in the country for him to outrun it all). He walked carefully over to the two, worrying his thumbs while he anticipated the earful he was about to get from Dutch. The three men stopped in front of each other. Dutch had his arms crossed and was tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for the younger man to speak up first. Likely to Dutch, he thought he might be doing Arthur a favor too. Charles was not happy, that much Arthur could tell. His mouth was straight as an arrow, his arms were crossed too, but he was tense and refused to look Arthur in his eye. Charles got the punishment that should’ve befallen the senior member, but the senior member was tucked away in a hotel bed nursing a hangover.

“Where were you?”

Dutch’s voice was calm, Arthur knew it was only to save face in front of the town that was to be robbed by him. If the three of them ended up back in the sheriff’s office, Dutch would all but throw a tantrum back at camp and claim that the two of them alone jeopardized the heist before it even began. Arthur sniffed, not really too sure of what to say to placate him.

“Hotel room.”

“Enjoy your beauty rest, princess?”

Dutch had this nasty habit of sneering when he was upset. He would mock and tease the person deserving his ire as he saw fit. Today that person was Arthur. Arthur didn’t answer.

“I came down here to collect you two on account we got some things to discuss back at camp. And now, looking at the state I found the both of you in, I reckon we got more to chat about than I had realized. I thought you was supposed to be in charge, Arthur.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Dutch. It just all, it just all got away from me, I guess.”

“ _It_ may have gotten away from you but I promise that won’t happen no more because the three of us is leaving. Now.”

Charles piped up, of course it wasn’t in Arthur’s defense. It wasn’t like he deserved it.

“I still have one more day!”

“You don’t anymore, son!”

Arthur wasn’t sure who Dutch was going to tear apart first. Charles for challenging his authority or Arthur not being authoritative enough.

“Dutch, with all due respect…I understand that you found me in less than pleasant circumstances, but I _have_ to talk to the Jebsons.”

Dutch’s brows furrowed at the name.

“The Jebsons? What business you got with them?”

Charles looked down, his eyes briefly flickering over to Arthur and for a moment, the blond thought that maybe that was an invitation for aid. Arthur groaned and rubbed at the back of his neck. He almost got Charles killed, he supposed the least he could do was help him lie. They were already in trouble, didn’t hurt to get in a little more.

“He…Charles been asking folk around town for something that were, um…stolen from him. Before he started riding with us.”

Dutch looked back at Charles, incredulous.

“You been looking for something that been stolen from you for six months?”

Charles nodded tentatively, his eyes darting between Dutch’s and Arthur’s.

“It..it’s something belonging to my mother.”

“His momma, Dutch.”

Charles’ mouth quirked into a smirk, despite the intensity of the moment. Honestly, Arthur wasn’t trying to make him laugh, but it’s about the little things. Dutch wasn’t privy to that moment of humor, his face bordering on complete confusion as opposed to the anger he once felt wholly. Dutch understands the importance of a mother. Arthur didn’t know much about Dutch’s childhood, but Dutch acts like there was at least something like love between the two of them. Arthur didn’t remember much of her but he knew that he loved her. Charles, he knew absolutely nothing about that man. Even though they were telling a fib, the way Charles mentioned his mother, it sounded soft and sad all at the same time. It made Arthur’s own heart hurt. Dutch seemed moved by this too, on some level and his stance became gentle again like a the flame that burned inside him was finally out.

“These folk…they…they here in town?”

“Yes, I don’t know how long but they’re here now. Dutch, I _have_ to see them. I’ll accept whatever punishment you have for me at camp, but I need to see this through.”

Charles sounded near pleading. Arthur hated how familiar a tone that was. Dutch scratched at his chin, the stubble itch becoming harder to ignore under all this duress. He looked between Arthur and then back at Charles. He didn’t know why Dutch was hesitating when his mind was already made up on the matter. Finally, the older man sighed and relented on whatever argument he had raging inside of him.

“Well, seeing as I am a man of morals, no matter how dubious they may seem to those not like us, I have them nonetheless.”

Arthur could already see Charles’ mood going sour and he had to do something.

“I’ll go then, if you won’t let him.”

They both stared at him like he had three heads. He had no choice but to muster through it.

“Look, he ain’t do nothing but help me, just...you should take him back to camp. Folks won’t be too much kinder to him after he been in jail. Charles, if it’s alright with you, I can go to the Jebsons.”

Dutch looked over at Charles and said, “I’d take that offer if I was you, son.”

Charles looked like this was far from over, but with a glance over at Arthur he sighed loudly and nodded. He mounted his horse who looked just as unhappy as he did. Arthur moved to do the same. Dutch mounted The Count and made sure Charles was ready.

“You take care of that and return to camp immediately, understood?”

“Yes, Dutch.”

Arthur didn’t leave until Charles and Dutch were gone.


	10. Chapter 10

It was times like this when Arthur cursed himself for being so loyal to the repayment system. He would never admit it to anyone in the gang, but he believed in karma, for what it was worth in the life he lived. The things he’s done, and apparently the things he’ll keep doing. His mind keeps racing to the Jebsons and then that pit in his stomach managed to sink even further at the thought of meeting them. But Charles needed this.

He found solace in the fact that he couldn’t remember much when he was… _like_ that. He only knew that he transformed when he woke up naked in a field somewhere in the middle of nowhere and felt this indescribable guilt when he came to. He remembered very clearly the moment where he tore into that poor woman’s belly. It felt different on his claws, it felt sick and wrong. Arthur swallowed back the bile in his stomach and held on tighter to the reins clutched in his hands.

He was nearly there. Maybe, he could just hightail it, and go to the saloon in the next town over and pick up where he left off. Even more than he didn’t want to cross an angry Charles, he really didn’t want to deal with an angry Dutch. He was already unpleasant whenever remotely annoyed by something, it was so much worse when he was actually worked up about it. Arthur thought about telling Dutch the truth and having to deal with whatever punishment would be due an unruly gang member. The older man was displeased to learn that his protégé was a werewolf. Arthur likes to think that maybe it unsettles him more than he wants to let on. Hosea, Hosea is as he always was and treated Arthur with warmth. It was getting pretty bad the closer they got to the heist. The boat was due soon.

Boa stopped directly in front of the house as if she already knew. She huffed disinterestedly, her tail swished lazily. Arthur slid off, grunting as he grabbed at his aching head. It wasn’t wise to do it in this condition, with the pain of the hangover and the stress he’d feel, he’s not sure what could happen if he claps eyes on them again.

Charles nearly got hanged for him though. He had to do this.

The door was on its last hinges, he didn’t want to hit it too hard. He gave the wood two soft raps, then he heard the sound of shuffling feet. The door opened a crack and there was a man with very tired eyes staring back at him. His hair was black, going grey at the sides. His clothes were unkempt, he was in little more than a white shirt and some navy blue town pants. Arthur felt an awful like he was intruding.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Mr. Jebson’s voice was weak, he probably wasn’t eating or drinking much. Arthur wasn’t too sure about the damaged he caused, but from the mere sight of the ghost that is Mr. Jebson, he reckoned he didn’t want to anymore. Still, he pressed on.

“I-I’m here cause I read about y’all in the papers.”

Mr. Jebson rolled his eyes and moved to close the door, but Arthur’s hand clamped down to stop him.

“Now, I ain’t here to cause you no harm I just want to ask you a few questions about that beast.”

“Why would you want to know about that?”

Arthur could lie, but he never cared much for it. Lyle always dinged him up real good if he thought he was lying, and Dutch and Hosea only really praised him for lying when it got them money. It wasn’t a lie for Charles, but it was for him, and if he was being honest with himself he felt just a touch embarrassed saying it.

“Because I’m…I can kill that beast for you.”

He meant that though. He tried to separate himself as much as possible from his murderous form, but for too many nights he’s woken up in blood that wasn’t his and there was only so long before his rejection of the beast sounded more like denial with each time he uttered it.

Mr. Jebson looked exhausted, but Arthur saw that hopeful glint and his heart caught in his chest. It was small, almost non-existent, but he knew all too well what just that tiny sliver can do for you.

“You can?”

“Sure. May, I come in?”

Hesitant, he nodded anyway and stepped aside for Arthur to come in. He wonders how much different this would have went if it was Charles. There are two bedrooms, but one of them looked pretty much transformed into a makeshift doctor’s office. There was a double bed and a woman lying prone on top of it. Mrs. Jebson. A young woman was perched on a chair next to the fireplace. She was whispering to herself and knitting something fierce. The yarn was yellow, and was freshly started on it so Arthur couldn’t discern what it was going to be.

Mr. Jebson pointed in him in the armchair adjacent to who Arthur pegged as their daughter. She hardly noticed a thing.

“I hope you don’t mind too much the state of the house. My wife…she ain’t been well and my daughter…well, you can see how she doing. I figure I’m at my wit’s end, sir.”

Arthur swallowed. It was about all he could do. Mr. Jebson fetched a chair from the kitchen and plopped it down before slumping in it. He sighed heavily.

“You read about us in the papers, you know what’s wrong with my family. I don’t got to explain much else do I?”

“No, sir. I just want to know what this beast look like is all.”

Mr. Jebson didn’t have to think too hard about that.

“Yellow fur. It’s all my girl can go on about…It’s all she can really think about more like.”

He turned to watch her knit.

“She don’t eat much these days.”

Arthur wanted to be bothered by how seemingly nonplussed Mr. Jebson was by it all, but then he saw those tired eyes again and he had few reasons pop into his head.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You all sorry, ain’t you. Every single last one of you that done run up in my home saying their condolences when all you want is a peep at the shitshow that has become my family. Am I right?”

Arthur held a hand up and tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.

“It ain’t like that---”

“Well then why don’t you go out there and kill the goddamned beast by midnight, else I’ll think you was a liar and I don’t got much patience for liars these days. My wife…she…don’t  got much longer. I’ll…I’ll be surprised if I wake up and she still breathing at all tomorrow.”

Arthur’s eyes trailed over to the room that his wife was in. Mr. Jebson followed his line of sight.

“Been married eighteen years, you know. She was the first girl I’d ever fell in love with and I was fixing for her to be my last. I was shocked when she said she would marry me.”

Mr. Jebson’s head was slowly lolling and Arthur had wanted to prevent this from happening. He got the fur color, would Charles be satisfied with that? He didn’t need the hunter on his tail anymore than he already was. His daughter started screaming. When the men looked over at her she was pointing a long and haggard nail over at Arthur; her face fixed with terror. Mr. Jebson did a startled double-take and then ran over to calm her down.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s him! It’s him, the beast!”

Arthur nearly fell out of his seat when she cried those awful words. She was convinced, and what was worse was that she had every right to be.

“No, no he ain’t no beast, sweetheart!”

Arthur’s heart jolted at the lie being reinforced by her father. She was right, this poor, traumatized, haunted girl is never going to be the same after what he did to her. The accusatory glare and point was enough to shake him to his core and he decided very quickly that he didn’t want or need to be in that house anymore. He rose from his seat, dusting himself off and tipping his hat politely.

“I apologize for upsetting her, sir, truly. I’d best be on my way.”

Mr. Jebson didn’t say anything in return. Arthur took it as him being okay with that so he took his leave, and shut the door tightly behind him, as if they were going to come running out with torches and pitchforks, howling down the streets that he was a monster.

Isn’t he?

He hoped that whatever went down between Charles and Dutch went smooth or the two were at least allowed to calm down before he got back to camp. He hated this town, and it only made the west-shaped hole in his heart throb more at the thought of being away from the lands he loved and missed the most.

Some of the townspeople were peering over to him. They could hear the poor girl screaming no doubt and want to know whether or not he caused it. He felt like a coward, powerless to come clean and do anything about the trouble he’s made. But Arthur could do two things well and that was fighting and running.

And right about now looked like a good time for running. If Dutch wanted him at his best then he needed all the space he could from here before the time came to rob them.

He clambered back onto Boa and with two gentle pats, began their trip back to the closest thing like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short, I know and I apologize! I just wanted to let you guys know I'm still updating :)


	11. Chapter 11

Charles paced the camp the moment he returned. Well, not exactly the moment he came back, he spent a while with Dutch, listening to the man lecture him about the importance of discretion and how, more than ever it was imperative that they didn’t have the town tacking up wanted posters of anyone that was going to participate in the Blackwater heist. The boat was due to come tomorrow, if Micah was to be believed. During the fiasco of whatever chaos Arthur managed to stir up despite being incapacitated for nearly all of it, Micah went ahead and did his own recon work and ended up as Dutch’s favorite gang member for the day. Of course, Micah didn’t really ask Dutch his permission, and Charles worried that somewhere during the scolding Dutch was going to lob words that weren’t related to the issue between Dutch and himself, but the man was professional when he chose to be.

“Charles, I am disappointed in you, truly. You’re the one I trust the most out of all the fools in this gang to not cause the ruckus that you did. And yet, through some cruel sort of irony on my end…you went and caused as much of a fuss as you could!”

Charles liked to fancy himself a man of few words. Few words spoken means there’s less of a chance that he wouldn’t be angry, or stir about feelings of malice with the other person he was speaking with. He learned young that the less he spoke, the less he interacted with others, the better even if it was a lonely life. Now that he thought about it, that’s probably why Dutch liked him so much in the first place.

“All I did was take care of the drunken fool you placed in charge of me. The hotel clerk got the law on me. I just wanted to get the one thing I went for.”

“Well son, you best hope Arthur went and got it for you. Always was good at fetching things.”

Charles grumbled something under his breath about Arthur fetching him a damn headache, Dutch’s brow quirked up at what his egotistical mind thought was a barbed comment about him. He waved his hand, the cigar smoke wafting and billowing in the air as he made such a simple gesture grand and obnoxious.

“Go cool off, son.”

Dismissed or not, Charles was going to do that anyway. He spun and turned on his heel. He tried his hardest to remember that, whether he liked it or not, Dutch was the leader and it was because of him that he didn’t freeze to death in the snow all those months ago. He wondered which one was the worst alternative. Arthur sure was taking his sweet ass time. For someone that didn’t even want to go to the town to begin with, it seemed like now he didn’t want to leave. Eventually, the anger of being interrupted, of being taunted and humiliated like that in the jail, began to seep from his bones until all he could feel was the earth he stomped over caving slowly and his thighs beginning to ache from walking the perimeter of camp. He made peace with sulking on a stump as far from the camp as possible. Just until Arthur came back. Charles told himself that the minute he heard that gruff voice he was going to let him have it. Tell him off for being drunk, for being belligerent, for nearly getting him lynched all in the span of a night.

“Welcome back, Mr. Morgan!”

Charles, without missing a beat, hopped up from his stump and started marching towards the man that managed to get under his skin without doing much at all. John was smiling up at his brother, hint of teasing laden in the gesture. Arthur didn’t look much like he was in the mood for John. And if he wasn’t in the mood to even yell an insult or two back at John then he most certainly wasn’t in the mood for whatever hell Charles was about to put him in. He looked rough, besides the hangover, like he’d seen a ghost…or several of them seeing as how pale he looked. As Charles got closer he realized that the man didn’t look good at all.

And suddenly he felt the last bit of anger that he clung to leaving as well. Arthur all but fell off his horse, giving John a distracted grunt of acknowledgement before fixing his eyes right to Charles. He’d only left Arthur alone for an hour, hopefully in that time he was able to talk to the Jebsons, what was left of them, and hear what happened the night of the attack. Maybe that was too much for the outlaw.

“Arthur.”

“Charles. Dutch ain’t get at you too bad, I hope.”

Charles had half a mind to exaggerate the situation, make up a grand story about how Dutch yelled and ranted and nearly threatened to throw him out of camp. But that seemed like far, far too many words to pull from thin air. Charles wasn’t a good story-teller anyway.

“No more than usual. Disappointed him somehow.”

Arthur uttered a “bah” and waved a hand at him.

“Can’t imagine you ever being disappointing.”

The problem with not talking to people, choosing to be a silent loner, was that Charles never really did learn when one was being sarcastic or true. And when said person was Arthur Morgan, the distinction became all the more confusing and maddening. Or maybe, Charles just found himself caring that much more if it was Arthur talking to him. Just like he cared more than he should about Arthur getting shitfaced, and now him looking worse than Reverend Swanson after a morphine-induced bender. Troubling troubling thoughts. Charles shrugged, tired of thinking about Dutch and the minor headache inhaling that disgusting cigar smoke the entire rant.

“Yup, well, Dutch disagrees.”

Arthur hummed something like a reply and the two men went silent. While the two haven’t really spoken, and when they did it usually turned into nothing more than a petty rabble that kept them at the weird acquaintance-not-quite-friendship that they’ve been comfortably resting at for the past six months. Did Charles want more? He didn’t know, he, quite frankly was full up attempting to befriend white people when they were fully intent on not treating him with even a modicum of respect. Those two men in the saloon weren’t any different than the others he’d run into during his time on the road. Even still, despite the hurt, he still wished that Arthur would be different. He joined this gang because he didn’t want to be alone anymore, he was hoping that at least one of them would prove him wrong. For some reason, his heart kept hoping that it would be Arthur.

“I know…I know it might not mean much, Charles, but I’m…I’m real sorry about all the fuss I were making in the town.”

Charles still tried to find something to be mad about, even though he was staring directly into the man’s tired blue-green eyes, accentuated by the dark purple of the bags he wore. Charles knows what it’s like to be as drunk as he was yesterday and when you finally manage to get to sleep, it’s not really sleep, not restful sleep anyway. And still, Arthur hopped on his horse and went to interrogate the Jebsons. Whether or not he did it as an apology to Charles didn’t matter. What did matter was him getting the information from the meeting.

“I’ll go to Dutch and tell him that if there was anyone to blame, it’d be me.”

Charles would be lying if he told Arthur that he didn’t want that, but the damage was already done and it wouldn’t do Dutch or the two of them any favors to make him upset again. Besides, there were more pressing matters to talk about and before Arthur was able to go to bed he needed to tell him what went down that unfortunate night. Before he could even think, he reached out and grabbed Arthur’s muscled arm. He could feel the man tense under his grip and he loosened it ever so slightly just to make the man however comfortable he could make him. They made their way to Arthur’s tent, ignoring the two loud calls of Arthur’s name, and then a prompt “Well fuck you then!” Charles saw the way Arthur’s jaw set at the insult hurled at him from across the camp, but from the resigned way he took it, Charles gathered that this was something that has happened before.

Arthur plopped down on his cot unceremoniously and Charles stood in front of him.

“What happened with the Jebsons?”

Arthur’s skin went an even more frightening shade of pale when the name was uttered. Surely he didn’t think that Charles was going to let him slide? Hungover or not, Charles’ investigation relied on the next bit of news that was going to slip from the cowboy’s tongue. Arthur sighed, and took his hat off, setting it on the table next to his bed.

“It weren’t too pretty over there, if that’s what you wondering.”

“Did…did anyone talk to you? The father?”

“The father were just about the only one like a human. Ain’t much of his family left no more.”

Charles suddenly felt like an asshole for seeming so hungry to learn about the most traumatic night in that family’s life. Whatever Arthur inserted himself into, even he was perturbed by it. A look seldom seen in the outlaw’s face. Charles sighed and then took a careful seat next to Arthur. It felt wrong and weird to sit so close to him, he swallowed hard. Arthur regarded him with a quick glance, but he allowed his personal space to be invaded. Charles wondered if he would’ve let anyone else do something like this.

“The daughter…poor girl she just sat in a corner by the fireplace. Knitting something, I could not tell what it were. The mother, she were lying in her bed, I could smell her wounds from the chair I were sitting in. Reckon she don’t got much longer, husband thought so too.”

Arthur’s voice went solemn and distant while he recounted the experience. All Charles could think is that he should’ve been there. He’s met many a people that survived a werewolf attack, it was never pretty and those people could never regain what they lost at the hands of these beasts.

“He just kept going about how him and the missus met. How the town’s been treating him; he claimed they was more like a spectacle than a family what gone through something unfortunate, it ain’t helping his daughter get better…her mind gone all foggy from the shock, she were just muttering about the beast. She started screaming when she saw me. Saying that I were the beast, and the way her eyes bulged…I believed it. Her pa had to calm her but I could not stay and bear witness to that. I’m sorry, Charles, but that were about all I were getting out of them. I ain’t want to do no more than that.”

Arthur did the right thing. Charles knew it in his heart, he would have done the same if he witnessed what Arthur did. Charles learned in the time they’ve been running together that Arthur was one of the very few members that had both a heart and a brain, even if he tried his hardest to convince the world at large that he was nothing more than a hollowed minion that could throw a punch when he needed to. If he truly were that hardened criminal that he wanted to be so bad, then he wouldn’t be so haunted by the experience of it all. Charles had a wonder how the man would’ve reacted had he seen the attack in progress. Would he be reluctant to help like when they first met, or would he not even hesitate and risk his life just to let that family live as normal as possible for just a little while longer.

Arthur rolled his shoulders and groaned, holding his head. Charles noticed that his hair was greasy and could do with a washing. Arthur looked grimy, like his clothes were going to have to be peeled from him. He’d offer to help, if the man was truly unwell. A hangover could put you out, and seeing how Arthur drank, Charles learned in that moment that hangovers were particularly debilitating for this cowboy and, even though they started off on the wrong foot. Arthur still went to the house and spoke to the family on Charles’ behalf, despite feeling like utter shit and even still, when Charles could see that the man was about ready to keel over, hunched over while his horse escorted him to the camp he still took the time to answer him calmly and as best as he could. Charles figured in all the time he spent alone on the road, he could smell bullshit from a mile away. Arthur only smelled like stale vomit and sweat but bullshit? None to be found.

“Charles…I really ain’t feeling too well.”

Charles immediately rose up from the bed, jerked from his thoughts, but being lucid enough to hear the genuine pain in his friend’s voice.

His friend. Huh.

Charles watched as Arthur moved to lay down, his boots and clothes still on. That couldn’t have been comfortable, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep fully-dressed. Charles looked up at Arthur, who had his arms folded across his chest, laying on his side, most likely in the case that he might puke again. He was grimacing and Charles made note to speak with Hosea about finding some herbs that might help Arthur with his migraine, the heat was likely not helping. For now, all Charles could do was sigh at the fool in front of him and move to take the boots off. Arthur’s foot twitched when he felt the air hitting his sock. His eyes shot open and he attempted to sit up, making direct eye contact with Charles.

“What’re you doing?”

The gruff voice even gruffer from approaching sleep and Charles was amazed that he was able to fall asleep so quickly. Charles only smirked and patted the man’s thigh. He slid the other boot off.

“I’m helping you get comfortable. Reckon sleeping in jeans and boots ain’t too comfortable.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to say something, but he only mumbled something and then laid back down. Charles wasn’t about to undress him as if he was a child so once the boot hit the floor, he started walking away, turning back to see Arthur fussing with the buttons on his shirt.

“When you done tucking him in, Mr. Smith, come to my tent as we got business to discuss about the heist.”

Dutch was smiling at him, full of ego and cockiness and that damned cigar still lit and tucked safely between his ringed fingers. Charles returned something like a polite smile and waited for Dutch to duck back into his tent. Hosea laughed, walking past Charles with a bowl of stew.

“No rest for the wicked, Mr. Smith.”

Charles exhaled and nodded.

“Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about my sporadic update time but I'm working to do better!


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